•/c? 
ana  Joiner  o  lone  $ 

*-7 


urbmritt  rtudoa 

\»/  v. 


MORSE   MANOR 


f\- 


VALSERINE 


MARGUERITE    AUDOUX 


VALSERINE 

AND  OTHER  STORIES 


BY 

MARGUERITE  AUDOUX 

AUTHOR  OF  "MARIE  CLAIRE" 


HODDER  &  STOUGHTON 

NEW  YORK 
GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


Copyright,    1912, 
By  George  H.  Doran  Company 


CONTENTS 

(THE  TRANSLATION) 

PAGE 

VALSERINE 1 

MOTHER  AND  DAUGHTER     ....     63 

THE  QUEEN'S  BARGE 72 

FIRE! 82 

CATICHE 90 

THE  FIANCEE 99 

A  FRAGMENT  OF  A  LETTER  ....   107 

THE  FOALS 115 

THE  GHOST 125 

WOLVES!  WOLVES! 133 

NEW  QUARTERS 141 

LITTLE   BEE 143 

MY  WELL-BELOVED  .  .   146 


2135229 


CONTENTS 


(THE  FRENCH) 

FACE 

VALSERINE 149 

MERE  ET  FILLE 211 

LE  CHALAND  DE  LA  REINE  ....  220 

Au  FEU!  ............  230 

CATICHE 238 

LA  FIANCEE 248 

FRAGMENT  DE  LETTRE 256 

LES   POULAINS 265 

LE  FANTOME 275 

Y  A  DES  LOUPS 284 

NOUVEAU  LOGIS 292 

PETITE  ABEILLE 294 

MON    BIEN-AIME  .  297 


VALSERINE 


VALSERINE 


CHAPTER  I 

EVER  since  dawn  Valserine  had 
remained  leaning  on  the  win- 
dow-sill as  she  always  did 
when  she  was  waiting  for  her  father 
to  return.  She  knew  perfectly  well 
that  he  would  not  come  that  morning, 
but  she  could  not  help  watching  the 
little  pathway  up  which  he  used  to 
toil,  bent  almost  double  with  the 
weight  of  the  big  bales  which  he  had 
smuggled  across  the  frontier. 

She  had  been  crying  so  much  the 
day  before,  and  had  been  crying  so 
much  all  night,  that  now  she  could  not 
keep  back  the  great  sobs  ending  in 
soft  moans  which  broke  from  her  lit- 
tle throat  every  few  minutes.  She 
heard  the  sound  of  a  horse's  footfall 


VALSERINE 


on  the  rough  road  which  ran  from 
the  high  road  up  to  the  house  and 
turned  away  from  the  little  path. 
She  leaned  as  far  out  of  the  window 
as  she  could  so  as  to  listen  better. 
When  she  was  quite  sure  that  the 
sound  was  coming  nearer,  she  went 
to  the  door  and  bolted  it,  ran  back 
to  the  window  and  closed  it 
softly.  Then  she  waited  behind  the 
window  curtain,  trembling  as  she 
waited. 

A  few  moments  afterwards  she  saw 
the  horse.  He  climbed  up  the  rough 
little  road  with  drooping  head.  The 
reins  were  hanging  down  on  one  side 
of  his  neck,  and  she  saw  that  the  man 
walking  by  the  horse's  side  was  a 
gendarme.  He  came  up  the  hill 
with  his  two  fists  on  his  hips,  and 
his  step,  which  was  measured,  was 
firm  and  regular.  The  child  flattened 
herself  close  up  against  the  wall  so 
that  he  should  not  see  her.  She 
heard  the  horse  stop  in  front  of  the 
door,  and  she  guessed  that  the 
gendarme  was  rapping  with  the  back 
2 


VALSERINE 


of  his  hand.  She  did  not  know 
whether  she  ought  to  answer.  She 
was  afraid  of  disobeying  his  sum- 
mons, but  at  the  same  time  she 
thought  that  the  gendarme  might 
think  that  the  house  was  empty 
and  would  go  away. 

But  the  gendarme  did  not  go  away. 
He  tried  to  open  the  door,  and  rapped 
louder  than  ever,  crying,  "Hi,  little 
one!"  Then  the  child  heard  him 
fastening  his  horse  to  the  iron  ring 
which  was  fixed  in  the  wall  and 
heard  him  go  away  from  the  door. 
A  moment  afterwards  she  heard  his 
voice  behind  the  house.  He  was 
calling  loudly,  "Valserine!  Hi! 
Valserine!"  He  came  back  to  the 
front  of  the  house  and  called  once 
more.  But  this  time  his  voice  did  not 
bury  itself  in  the  wood.  It  drifted 
out  over  the  Mijoux  valley  and 
rapped  against  the  side  of  the  great 
mountain  opposite,  which  sent  it 
back  in  several  duller  voices  as 
though  the  mountain  had  broken 
the  man's  voice  to  bits  and  was 

3 


VALSERINE 


sending  the  pieces  to  look  for  the  lit- 
tle girl. 

The  gendarme  got  tired  of  calling. 
He  shook  the  door  again,  and  then 
put  his  face  close  up  to  the  window- 
pane  trying  to  look  into  the  inside 
of  the  house.  Valserine  went  up 
to  the  window  at  once.  She  had 
recognized  him  as  one  of  the  gens- 
darmes  from  the  village  of  Sept- 
moncel,  the  one  who  had  such  a  pretty 
little  daughter  with  whom  she  had 
played  sometimes. 

The  gendarme  seemed  quite  glad  to 
see  her.  He  waved  his  hand  to  her 
and  said — 

"Now  then,  you  little  absurdity, 
open  the  door.  I  shan't  do  you  any 
harm,  shall  I?" 

Valserine  opened  the  door  and  felt 
hot  with  shame  at  having  let  him 
call  for  her  so  long.  The  gendarme 
took  a  chair,  sat  down,  and  said  to 
the  child,  who  stood,  with  hands 
behind  her  back,  in  front  of 
him — 

"Your  father's  got  caught,  and 
4 


VALSERINE 


the  Customs'  men  say  that  you  used 
to  help  him  with  his  smuggling." 

The  child  looked  straight  into  the 
gendarme's  eyes  and  answered — 

"No." 

"Well,"  he  said,  "you  were  keep- 
ing watch  yesterday  when  the  Cus- 
toms' men  took  him." 

Valserine  looked  down. 

"And  it  is  because  he  heard  you 
call  out  that  his  foot  slipped,  and  he 
fell  down  the  hillside  among  the 
cut  trees." 

Valserine  raised  her  head  quickly, 
as  though  she  were  going  to  explain. 
Then  she  shut  her  mouth  tightly, 
and  after  a  few  moments'  silence 
she  asked,  almost  voicelessly — 

"Is  his  leg  broken?" 

"No,"  said  the  gendarme.  "He 
will  soon  be  able  to  walk." 

She  did  not  wait  for  him  to  finish, 
but  asked  again — 

"Does  his  head  still  hurt  him  as 
much?" 

The  gendarme  turned  his  head 
away  as  though  the  question  were  an 

5 


VALSERINE 


awkward  one.  Then  he  took  off  his 
cap,  and  drumming  on  it  with  his  fin- 
ger tips  he  answered — 

"Oh,  that's  all  right.  There's 
not  much  harm  done.  But  your 
father  is  going  to  prison  now,  and 
you  can't  remain  here  all  by  your- 
self." 

Then,  as  the  child  looked  up  at 
him  with  eyes  full  of  anxiety,  he 
explained  that  the  carrier  who  took 
the  letters  into  Saint-Claude  every 
day  had  got  orders  to  take  her  in 
his  cart  that  same  evening  on  his 
way  back  from  the  Col  de.la  Faucille. 
All  she  would  have  to  do  was  to  wait 
for  the  cart  on  the  high  road  at  the 
bottom  of  the  path,  and  the  carrier 
would  take  her  to  Saint-Claude, 
where  she  would  stay  with  some 
people  who  would  look  after  her 
until  her  father  came  out  of  prison. 

Valserine  promised  that  she  would 
go  down  and  wait  for  the  cart,  and 
the  gendarme  went  away,  promising 
to  give  her  frequent  news  of  the 
smuggler.  The  child  shut  the  door 
6 


VAI1SERINE 


behind  him,  and  tried  hard  to  think. 
She  remembered  that  her  father  had 
said  to  her  a  little  while  before, 
"You  will  soon  be  thirteen  years 
old."  After  a  long  silence  he  had 
added,  "I  should  like  you  to  work 
at  the  diamond-cutting."  She  re- 
membered, too,  that  he  had  often 
spoken  about  her  future.  He  used 
to  do  that  on  the  days  when  she 
would  not  do  her  preparation  for 
next  day's  school.  She  could  see 
him  again  leaning  over  her  and 
pointing  out  her  mistakes,  their  two 
heads  so  close  together  that  they 
used  to  knock  against  one  an- 
other sometimes,  and  she  almost 
thought  she  could  hear  him  saying, 
"I  am  not  very  clever,  and  I  don't 
know  how  much  I  know,  but  what  I 
can  show  you  will  be  useful  to  you  in 
the  future." 

The  future.  She  said  the  word 
over  again  so  as  to  fix  it  in  her  mem- 
ory. It  seemed  to  her  to  be  some- 
thing very  lofty  and  far  away, 
like  the  clouds  which  tumbled  one  an- 

7 


VALSERINE 


other  about  as  they  rolled  across  the 
Col  de  la  Faucille  and  rushed  away, 
ravelling  themselves  out  into  fringes, 
over  the  Jura  mountains. 

Then  the  tame  turtle  dove  at- 
tracted Valserine's  attention.  She 
came  out  of  the  wood,  as  she  came 
every  morning,  to  be  stroked  and  to 
get  something  good  to  eat.  Val- 
serine  held  her  for  a  long  time 
between  her  two  hands.  But  she 
could  not  talk  to  her  this  morning  as 
she  used  to  talk  to  her  every  day; 
and  when  the  bird  flew  away  the 
little  girl  went  out  of  the  house  to 
go  to  the  "keeper's  room."  She 
went  the  long  way  round,  and  very 
carefully,  taking  all  the  usual  precau- 
tions so  that  she  should  not  be  seen. 
It  was  there  that  her  father  used  to 
hide  his  smuggled  goods. 

Ever  since  she  had  known  that 
the  "keeper's  room"  was  a  hiding- 
place  Valserine  had  gone  there  in 
fear  and  trembling.  For  a  long 
time  she  had  believed  that  the  place 
was  set  apart  for  the  goods  because 
8 


it  was  cool.  She  had  known  nothing 
of  any  danger,  until  the  day  when 
the  Customs'  men  had  come  and  had 
hidden  themselves  among  the  heaps 
of  fallen  rock  which  covered  the 
hiding-place.  The  darkness  was  be- 
ginning to  creep  into  the  "keeper's 
room."  The  child  and  her  father 
had  just  finished  wrapping  up  all  the 
little  parcels  which  could  easily  be 
hidden  in  pockets,  and  which  the 
smuggler  was  going  out  to  sell  the 
next  day. 

They  were  just  climbing  out  of 
the  hiding-place,  when  they  heard 
a  voice  quite  close  to  them  saying, 
"There  must  be  a  lot  of  deep  holes 
among  these  stones."  The  voice 
had  suddenly  grown  dull,  as  though 
it  were  going  away.  There  had  been 
a  few  footfalls  above  their  heads, 
and  the  same  voice  had  spoken 
again,  saying,  "I've  half  a  mind  to 
let  my  revolver  off  down  into  that 
gap."  The  child  felt  her  father  catch 
hold  of  her  and  pull  her  to  him. 
She  had  felt,  too,  that  he  was 

9 


VALSERINE 


trembling  all  over,  and  he  had 
whispered  very  low  in  her  ear. 
"They  are  just  above  us."  Val- 
serine  felt  no  fear  just  then.  She 
did  not  understand  why  she  felt  her 
father  trembling  so.  She  wanted 
to  speak  to  him,  but  he  had 
put  his  hand  over  her  mouth,  and 
had  whispered,  "The  Customs'  men 
are  there."  The  child  had  under- 
stood in  a  flash  that  her  father  was 
hiding  contraband  goods,  like  the 
son  of  old  Marienne,  who  lived  at 
the  foot  of  the  mountain.  The  gens- 
darmes  had  taken  him  off  to 
prison  several  times  already.  And, 
in  spite  of  the  darkness,  she  put 
her  two  hands  in  front  of  her  face  so 
that  her  father  should  not  see  the 
shame  which  was  making  her  blush. 
But  her  father  bent  over  her  and 
held  her  closer  to  him.  She  under- 
stood what  he  was  thinking  about, 
and  to  reassure  him  she  put  one 
arm  round  his  neck  and  the  other 
hand  against  his  cheek.  They 
stayed  like  that  a  long,  long  minute, 
10 


VALSERINE 


and  Valserine  felt  the  weight  of  her 
father's  head  leaning  against  hers. 
They  did  not  move  apart  until  they 
heard  several  sharp  little  taps  against 
the  stones  of  the  hiding-place. 
Then  the  voice  of  the  Customs' 
man  sounded  quite  close  to  them  as 
though  it  were  speaking  through 
a  tube.  It  said,  "My  rod  doesn't 
touch  bottom."  Another  voice, 
which  sounded  a  good  deal  fur- 
ther off,  said,  "Keep  quiet.  You 
will  bring  a  lot  of  insects  out  of  that 
hole,  and  they  will  be  an  awful 
nuisance."  The  little  sharp  taps 
went  on  for  a  time,  and  all  of  a  sud- 
den a  sharp  rattle  told  Valserine  that 
the  Customs'  man  had  dropped  his 
rod  into  the  "keeper's  room."  Val- 
serine and  her  father  sat  down 
silently  on  the  small  stone  which 
was  near  them,  and  they  remained 
there  till  morning  without  daring  to 
move  or  to  whisper  to  one  another. 
It  was  not  until  broad  daylight 
streamed  into  the  "keeper's  room" 
that  the  smuggler  made  up  his  mind 

ii 


VALSERINE 


to  leave  it  and  make  certain  that 
the  Customs'  men  were  no  longer 
there. 

And  now  that  Valserine  was  back 
again  in  this  hiding-place  all  by  her- 
self, she  remembered  every  little 
detail  of  that  night  when  she  had  suf- 
fered so.  It  had  been  a  little  more 
than  a  year  ago,  and  since  then 
she  had  asked  her  father  so  many 
questions  that  she  knew  more,  now, 
about  all  sorts  of  things. 

She  knew  that  she  must  never 
go  twice  by  the  same  road  to  get  to 
the  "keeper's  room,"  so  as  not  to 
leave  traces  of  her  steps  or  make  a 
path.  She  knew  that  a  man  might 
be  a  smuggler  without  being  a  thief, 
and  she  felt  very  clearly  that  her 
father  had  become  more  intimate 
with  her  since  he  had  spoken  to  her 
like  a  friend.  She  glowed  with  some- 
thing very  much  like  pride  when  she 
remembered  what  the  gendarme  had 
said  to  her,  "The  Customs'  men  say 
that  you  used  to  help  your  father  to 
smuggle  in  his  goods." 
12 


VALSERINE 


She  made  certain  that  everything 
in  the  "keeper's  room"  was  sheltered 
from  the  damp.  She  rolled  up  a  few 
ends  of  cord  which  were  lying  about, 
and  she  went  out  of  the  "keeper's 
room,"  taking  the  same  precautions 
as  she  had  taken  to  go  down  there. 
She  went  back  to  the  house  and  put 
everything  straight,  and  when  the 
time  came  she  shut  the  door  care- 
fully, locked  it,  and  went  down  to  the 
high  road  to  meet  the  mail-cart,  as 
she  had  promised  the  gendarme  she 
would. 

The  mail-cart  was  full  of  people. 
The  carrier  was  going  to  put  Val- 
serine  up  beside  him,  but  an  old  man 
gave  up  his  place  after  having  looked 
at  the  child  for  a  long  while,  and 
climbed  on  to  the  box-seat  next  to 
the  driver.  Valserine's  back  was 
turned  to  the  horses.  She  held 
back  the  rough  red-striped  curtain 
which  shut  in  the  two  sides  of  the 
cart,  and  every  time  that  the  cart 
turned  round  a  bend  in  the  winding 
road  it  seemed  to  her  that  the 

13 


VALSERINE 


mountains  were  moving.  From  time 
to  time  the  driver  uttered  a  queer, 
long  cry — 

"Allonlonloni" 

This  cry  of  his  came  at  regular 
intervals,  as  though  an  invisible 
machine  were  regulating  it,  and  the 
child  came  to  wait  for  it  as  though 
it  were  something  necessary  to  the 
safety  of  the  cart  as  well  as  to  the 
pace  of  the  horses. 

They  reached  the  village  of  La- 
joux  almost  immediately.  It  was 
in  this  village  that  Valserine  went  to 
school.  She  thought  that  all  the 
children  who  were  playing  in  front 
of  the  doors  must  know  that  the 
smuggler  was  in  prison,  and  for  fear 
of  being  seen  by  any  of  them  the 
child  made  herself  as  small  as  she 
could,  and  hid  behind  the  curtain  of 
rough  sacking. 

The  cart  stopped  a  good  while  at 
the  village  of  Septmoncel.  The  gen- 
darme whom  she  had  seen  that 
morning  passed,  holding  his  little 
girl  by  the  hand,  and  Valserine  saw 
14 


VALSERINE 


that  both  of  them  smiled  up  to  her 
as  though  they  were  telling  her  to 
be  brave.  Then  the  journey  went 
on.  The  little  girl  noticed  that  the 
mountains  were  becoming  blacker 
and  higher,  and  that  they  seemed  to 
turn  more  rapidly  round  the  road. 
And  just  when  night  was  falling  she 
saw  that  the  cart  was  driving  into 
the  village  of  Saint-Claude. 

When  the  horses  had  stopped  at 
the  corner  of  the  square,  Valserine 
saw  a  young  woman  with  three 
children  come  up  to  her.  She  rec- 
ognized her,  for  she  had  seen  her  a 
little  time  before  talking  to  her 
father  at  the  last  fair  in  Lajoux 
village.  The  young  woman  said  to 
her  at  once — 

"Your  father  didn't  mean  me  to 
take  you  before  next  year,  but  you 
will  have  to  begin  a  year  earlier 
that's  all." 

Then  she  made  all  her  chil- 
dren go  round  to  the  other  side  of  her, 
so  that  she  could  walk  by  the  side 
of  Valserine.  The  girl  had  no 

15 


VALSERINE 


answer  ready.  She  was  a  little  bit 
dazed  by  the  journey.  The  noise 
of  the  cart-wheels  remained  in  her 
ears,  and  it  worried  her  not  to  hear 
the  monotonous  voice  of  the  driver, 
which  had  calmed  her  nerves  all 
along  the  road. 

Suddenly,  in  front  of  her,  she  saw 
a  light  which  seemed  to  be  hanging 
from  nothing,  then  another  lit  up, 
and  another,  and  it  was  only  at  the 
third  that  she  recognized  the  gas- 
lamps.  The  street  was  badly  paved 
and  steep,  and  the  woman's  three 
children  amused  themselves  by  run- 
ning down  it,  while  the  young  woman 
herself  pointed  out  to  Valserine  the 
bad  bits  of  paving  and  the  few  steps 
on  the  side  path.  They  turned  into 
a  street  which  was  almost  pitch 
dark,  and  the  children  rushed  into  a 
house,  jumping  round  an  old  woman 
who  was  waiting  for  them  in  the 
doorway. 

It  was  only  on  the  third  day  after 
her  arrival  that  Valserine  knew  she 
was  going  to  become  an  apprentice 
16 


VALSERINE 


to  the  diamond-cutting.  It  was  a 
Sunday.  The  young  woman  had 
got  up  much  later  than  usual,  the 
children  had  their  best  clothes  on 
and  the  dining-room  table  was 
better  spread  than  on  the  other 
days. 

From  the  noisy  chatter  of  the 
children  Valserine  learned  that  the 
young  woman  was  a  widow,  that 
her  name  was  Remy,  and  that  she 
was  a  diamond-cutter.  She  also 
learned  that  diamond-cutting  was  a 
nice  clean  trade,  that  it  was  not 
very  fatiguing,  and  that  women 
earned  their  livelihood  at  it  as  well 
as  men.  Madame  Remy  had  added 
with  a  wave  of  her  hand  round  the 
table — 

"I  find  the  bread  and  butter  for  all 
these  small  fry." 

She  drew  off  a  ring  which  she  wore 
on  her  finger,  and  showed  the  child 
the  facets  which  had  to  be  cut  so 
that  the  stone  should  shine  with  all 
its  brilliance.  Then  she  made  her 
understand  how  lucky  she  was  to 

17 


VALSERINE 


have  been  accepted  by  the  diamond 
cutters,  who  took  very  few  appren- 
tices for  fear  that  too  large  a  number 
of  workers  should  knock  wages  down 
for  all  of  them. 

Valserine  had  often  heard  talk 
about  the  diamond-cutting,  but  this 
was  the  first  time  she  paid  any  atten- 
tion to  it.  She  had  learned  in  school 
that  a  diamond  was  a  very  hard 
stone,  and  she  remembered  that  the 
schoolmistress  had  said  that  the 
wheel  of  a  heavy  wagon  could  pass 
over  one  without  chipping  it.  All 
day  long  she  thought  about  the 
difficulty  she  would  have  in  holding 
so  little  a  thing  in  her  hands.  She 
imagined  she  would  have  to  use  a 
strong  knife  with  a  sharp  blade,  like 
her  father's  razor,  to  cut  the  stones. 
She  saw  herself  sitting  on  a  low 
chair,  in  front  of  a  low  table  on  which 
would  be  arranged  boxes  full  of  them. 

She  began  to  be  afraid  of  this 
difficult  trade,  and  when  she  went 
into  the  workshop  next  morning  she 
looked  at  everything  at  once.  She 
18 


VALSERINE 


saw  the  big  bay  windows  which  let 
in  all  the  light  from  outside  from 
both  sides  together.  She  saw  the 
red  brick  ceiling,  and  the  wall  at 
the  far  end  with  its  big  round  clock 
hung  very  high.  She  could  not  pre- 
vent herself  from  counting  the  rungs 
of  a  ladder  placed  just  underneath 
the  clock.  She  saw  the  long  pipe 
placed,  as  though  it  were  a  dangerous 
thing,  well  away  in  the  middle  of 
the  room,  and  the  great  wheels 
with  straps  on  them  all  round  it. 
And  she  saw  to  right  and  left  of 
the  deep  bay  windows  men  and 
women  sitting  on  high  stools,  side 
by  side,  with  all  their  faces  turned 
curiously  towards  her.  At  the  same 
moment  she  heard  Madame  Remy 
say — 

"Be  careful  of  the  straps,  Val- 
serine." 

She  turned  round  at  once,  and 
with  Madame  Remy's  hand  on  her 
shoulder  allowed  herself  to  be  guided 
round  to  the  right  behind  the  work- 
people. She  guessed  that  every  face 

19 


VALSERINE 


was  turned  round  to  look  at  her  as 
she  passed,  and  as  she  did  not  dare 
to  lift  her  eyes,  she  saw  nothing 
but  the  stools  as  she  passed  them 
one  by  one.  Then  a  pressure  from 
Madame  Remy's  hand  made  her 
stand  still,  and  she  heard  the  same 
warning  as  before — 

"Be  very  careful  of  the  straps." 
She  took  off  her  jacket,  and  put 
on  a  big  blouse  with  little  blue 
checks  on  it,  which  Madame  Remy 
had  bought  for  her  the  day  before, 
telling  her  that  she  should  wear  it 
instead  of  the  black  pinafore  which 
she  had  worn  at  school.  She  saw 
Madame  Remy  smiling  at  her,  and 
in  spite  of  the  roar  which  began  to 
nil  her  ears  she  heard  that  she  was 
being  told  not  to  move  from  her 
seat,  and  to  watch  what  was  being 
done  around  her,  so  as  to  get  famil- 
iarized with  everything. 

Valserine  was  sitting  like  the 
others  on  a  high  stool.  Her  new 
blouse  was  a  little  too  long,  and 
caught  at  her  knees.  She  folded  her 
20 


VALSERINE 


hands  as  she  knew  a  good  little  girl 
ought  to  fold  them,  and  looked  round 
at  the  other  workers  as  Madame 
Remy  had  told  her  to. 

She  saw  all  the  diamond  cutters 
leaning  in  exactly  the  same  way, 
and  with  exactly  the  same  motion, 
over  a  round  plate  in  front  of  them. 
But  it  was  a  long  time  before  she 
understood  that  this  plate  was  the 
mould  on  which  the  diamond  was 
cut. 

Next  day  she  began  to  render  lit- 
tle services  to  the  people  round  her. 
She  was  told  exactly  what  she  was  to 
do. 

"Valserine,  pass  me  my  diamond 
powder.  No,  not  that  box,  the  other 
one,  the  round  one." 

"Put  this  lead  in  the  mould,  and 
raise  the  gas  flame  a  little." 

At  the  end  of  a  fortnight  Valserine 
knew  by  name  all  the  tools  used  in  the 
diamond-cutting. 

She  had  learned  to  put  the  neces- 
sary quantity  of  diamond  powder  on 
to  the  steel  grinder  which  turned  so 

21 


VALSERINE 


fast  that  she  had  to  watch  it 
closely  to  be  sure  that  it  really  was 
turning.  She  had  also  learned  to 
hold  the  little  ball  of  lead  in  which 
the  stone  was  fixed,  so  that  by 
means  of  a  pair  of  heavy  nippers  it 
could  be  held  on  to  the  grinder. 
And  she  no  longer  heard  the  warning 
which  had  been  so  often  repeated 
in  the  first  days  she  was  there — 

"Valserine!  be  careful  of  the 
straps." 

The  men  and  the  women  in  the 
work-room  looked  at  her  now  with- 
out the  curiosity  of  the  first  days. 
Several  of  them  were  quite  affec- 
tionate with  her,  and  she  began  to 
feel  that  she  had  become  a  member  of 
one  large  family. 

And  yet,  when  Madame  Remy 
asked  her  if  she  loved  her  work,  she 
always  hesitated  before  answering 
yes.  Those  were  the  moments 
when  the  longing  for  another  kind 
of  work  came  into  her  mind.  She 
could  not  have  said  exactly  what 
kind  of  work  she  meant.  She  did 
22 


VALSERINE 


not  care  particularly  for  any  of  the 
kinds  she  knew. 

But  her  thoughts  dwelt  on  some- 
thing which  would  have  forced  her 
to  leave  her  stool  more  often.  She 
was  very  obedient,  and  did  exactly 
what  she  was  told,  but  little  by 
little  a  kind  of  contempt  grew  up 
in  her  for  these  stones  which  were 
handled  with  such  care,  and  one 
'day  when  she  had  let  one  slip  out 
of  her  fingers,  she  was  very  much 
astonished  when  she  saw  the  anxiety 
with  which  Madame  Remy  insisted 
on  her  finding  it  directly.  She  quite 
understood  that  these  stones  were 
very  rare,  but  she  could  not  under- 
stand why  everybody  thought  them 
so  important. 

She  had  noticed  from  the  begin- 
ning that  the  diamond  workers  were 
better  dressed  than  the  other  work- 
men and  workwomen  in  St.  Claude. 
The  women  wore  well-made  dresses, 
and  their  hair  was  always  prettily  ar- 
ranged. 

One  morning  one  of  the  women 

23 


VALSERINE 


near  her  was  nervous  and  impatient. 
She  kept  picking  up  her  nippers 
and  putting  them  down  again  on 
the  grinder  saying,  in  a  tone  of  an- 
noyance— 

"I  can't  find  the  grain  of  this  stone, 
and  I  expect  I  shall  be  all  day  trying 
to  cut  one  facet  of  it." 

This  made  Valserine  quite  uneasy. 
She  didn't  dare  to  ask  any  questions, 
but  her  eyes  followed  every  movement 
of  the  angry  woman.  Madame 
Remy  noticed  her.  She  made  signs 
to  the  child  to  come  over  to  her, 
and  explained  that  a  diamond  had 
one  side  on  which  it  was  quite  im- 
possible to  begin  work,  and  that  one 
very  often  had  to  work  for  a  long 
time  before  finding  the  place  where 
the  first  facet  could  be  cut. 

Valserine  understood  that  the 
work,  which  was  clean  and  pretty, 
needed  little  beyond  a  great  deal  of 
patience  and  a  great  deal  of  attention. 
She  remembered  that  her  father  had 
chosen  this  trade  for  her  a  lung  time 
ago,  and  she  felt  glad  at  the  thought 
24 


VALSERINE 


that  he  was  not  as  unhappy  as  he 
might  be  in  his  prison,  now  that  he 
knew  that  his  daughter  was  working 
at  the  diamond  cutting. 


CHAPTER  II 

IT  was  the  end  of  the  week,  and 
Valserine  was  still  expecting  a  visit 
from  the  gendarme  of  Septmoncel. 
He  had  not  come  over  on  Monday 
before  to  St.  Claude  to  give  her 
news  of  the  prisoner,  as  he  had 
done  every  week  for  the  last  two 
months.  She  knew  that  her  father 
was  still  suffering  from  the  wounds 
in  his  head,  and  her  anxiety  for  news 
prevented  her  from  paying  proper  at- 
tention to  her  work.  She  made  mis- 
takes every  moment,  giving  the  work- 
women things  which  they  had  not 
asked  for.  Once  she  dropped  two  lit- 
tle tiny  diamonds  on  to  the  floor,  and 
would  never  have  been  able  to  find 
them  again  but  for  Madame  Remy's 

25 


VALSERINE 


help.     But  nobody  scolded  her  as  she 
had  expected. 

She  soon  noticed  that  there  was  a 
change  in  the  way  the  diamond 
workers  looked  at  her.  She  noticed 
that  they  looked  at  her  a  good  deal 
more  than  usual,  and  that  they  all 
had  secrets  to  tell  one  another  that 
day.  They  put  their  heads  together 
and  whispered,  and  whenever  their 
eyes  met  those  of  Valserine,  they 
dropped  them  as  though  they  did 
not  want  her  to  see  them  looking  at 
her. 

Valserine  saw  Madame  Remy 
make  a  sign  to  her  neighbour  and 
lean  over  towards  her.  She  saw 
the  eyes  of  the  other  woman  look 
towards  her  and  turn  away  imme- 
diately. She  guessed  that  the  two 
women  were  talking  about  her,  and, 
in  a  moment  of  silence,  when  the 
straps  moved  noiselessly,  as  often 
happens  in  a  factory,  the  child  heard 
the  woman  say — 

"He    has    finished    his    prison   at 
last!" 
26 


VALSERINE 


Then  everything  became  perfectly 
clear  to  Valserine.  She  understood 
now  why  the  gendarme  had  not 
come.  She  understood,  too,  the 
stealthy  and  mysterious  glances  of 
the  diamond  workers,  and  she 
waited  confidently  for  the  end  of 
the  day  when  Madame  Remy  would 
tell  her,  as  she  had  told  eyerybody 
else,  that  her  father  had  come  out  of 
prison. 

That  evening,  while  they  were  hav- 
ing dinner,  Madame  Remy  said  to 
Valserine — 

"To-morrow,  we  will  go  and  fetch 
your  linen  and  the  rest  of  your 
clothes  from  your  father's  house." 

The  child  started,  and  her  chair 
slipped  back  from  the  table.  She 
pulled  it  up  to  the  table  again 
immediately,  a  little  nearer  than 
was  necessary,  and  tried  to  look 
into  Madame  Remy's  eyes.  But 
Madame  Remy  was  looking  at  her 
glass  attentively.  She  picked  it 
up,  rubbed  the  edge  of  it,  and 
said' — 

27 


VALSERINE 


"I  have  asked  Grosgoigin  to  drive 
us." 

She  went  on  rubbing  her  glass 
with  her  napkin  as  though  that 
were  the  most  important  thing  for 
the  moment,  and  then  she  added — 

"His  cart  is  roomy,  so  we  shall  be 
able  to  bring  back  everything  which 
cm  be  of  use  to  you." 

Then  she  left  the  table,  and  the 
children  hung  round  her  and  clam- 
oured to  be  taken  in  the  cart 
as  well. 

Early  next  morning  Grosgoigin 
came  and  fetched  Madame  Remy, 
her  three  children,  and  Valserine. 
The  horse  went  slowly  up  the  road 
which  ran  uphill  all  the  way.  The 
children  chattered  all  the  time,  and 
kept  on  calling  Valserine's  attention 
to  everything  they  saw.  But  Val- 
serine did  not  always  answer  them. 
She  had  noticed  how  thoughtful 
Madame  Remy  looked,  and  that  pre- 
vented her  from  showing  how  happy 
she  was  herself. 

They  had  to  stop  at  Septmoncel 
28 


VALSERINE 


for  the  midday  meal.  The  gen- 
darme came  into  the  inn  parlour 
where  the  little  party  was  eating 
its  meal  alone.  Valserine  saw 
Madame  Remy  get  up  in  a  hurry 
and  go  to  him,  and  the  two  of  them 
went  out  of  the  room  together, 
talking  in  low  voices.  The  child 
was  very  much  surprised  at  seeing 
Madame  Remy  come  back  all  alone. 
A  few  moments  afterwards  she  saw 
the  gendarme  through  the  open 
window.  He  was  walking  up  the 
street,  very  leisurely,  leaning  for- 
ward a  little,  and  with  his  two  hands 
clasped  behind  his  back. 

After  their  midday  meal  they  got 
into  the  cart  again  and  started. 
The  children  were  sleepy,  and  their 
little  heads  nodded  as  the  cart  rolled 
on.  Before  long  all  three  of  them 
fell  fast  asleep. 

Madame  Remy  was  sitting  just 
opposite  Valserine.  From  time  to 
time  she  took  a  long  breath  as  people 
do  who  make  up  their  minds  to  say 
something  important,  and  Valserine 

29 


VALSERINE 


kept  thinking  that  she  was  going  to 
speak  to  her.  Then  the  young  woman 
turned  her  face  away  from  that  of 
the  child,  and  seemed  to  be  very 
busy  preventing  her  sleeping  chil- 
dren from  slipping  off  the  bench. 
Valserine  helped  her  as  well  as  she 
could,  resting  the  head  of  one  of  the 
little  ones  against  her  shoulder,  but 
she  leaned  back  every  moment  so  as 
to  get  a  glimpse  of  the  mountain 
which  hid  her  home. 

When  the  cart  rolled  through  the 
village  of  Lajoux,  Valserine  felt  as 
though  all  her  blood  was  bubbling 
inside  her.  She  began  to  laugh  and 
to  kick  her  legs  about.  She  wanted 
to  talk,  she  wanted  to  tell  Madame 
Remy  what  she  had  heard  the 
diamond-cutters  saying  the  day 
before.  She  wanted  to  ask  her  how 
long  her  father  had  been  out  of 
prison.  It  seemed  to  her  that  all 
these  things  would  be  quite  easy  to 
say  if  the  children  would  only  wake 
up. 

But  they  went  on  sleeping  quietly, 
30 


VALSERINE 


and  Valserine  felt  timid  before  the 
evident  embarrassment  of  Madame 
Remy.  She  was  afraid  of  making 
her  angry,  and  afraid  of  hearing  her 
blame  her  father  as  she  had  done 
every  time  the  gendarme  came  and 
brought  them  news  of  the  prisoner. 
So  she  leaned  out  over  the  side  of  the 
cart,  hoping  to  see  her  father  at  the 
bottom  of  the  little  path  which 
climbed  up  to  their  house. 

The  cart  rolled  quickly  down  the 
steep  road  from  Lajoux  to  Mijoux. 
All  of  a  sudden,  at  a  turn  in  the  road, 
Valserine  tried  to  wriggle  off  the 
bench.  She  woke  up  the  child 
whose  head  was  on  her  shoulder, 
and  shouted  as  loudly  as  she 
could — 

"Stop,  stop,  we  are  there!" 
She  said  this  to  Grosgoigin  and  to 
Madame  Remy  both  at  once.  At 
the  same  time  she  looked  to  right 
and  left,  in  front  of  her  and  behind 
her,  and  began  shaking  the  handle 
of  the  little  door  at  the  back  of  the 
cart.  She  shook  it  and  shook  it, 


VALSERINE 


but  couldn't  open  the  door.  Madame 
Remy  caught  hold  of  her  dress  and 
said — 

"Wait,  dear,  wait  a  minute  until 
the  cart  stops." 

The  child  stood  up  and  kicked  the 
door  as  hard  as  she  could.  It  opened 
suddenly,  creaking  on  its  hinges,  and 
as  the  cart  slowed  down  Valserine 
jumped  out  of  it  without  using  the 
step.  She  turned  right  round  with 
her  arms  open,  took  three  or  four 
long  stumbling  steps,  and  just  as 
Grosgoigin  brought  the  horses  to  a 
complete  standstill,  the  child  jumped 
over  the  ditch  by  the  side  of  the  road 
and  ran  to  the  steep  pathway  which 
climbed  up  to  her  house  half-way 
up  the  mountain,  just  where  the 
wood  began.  •  Madame  Remy  called 
her  back  and  prevented  the  children 
from  getting  out  of  the  cart.  As 
she  had  said  before  she  cried 
again — 

"Wait  a  minute,  wait  a  minute." 

But  Valserine  could  not  wait. 
She  ran  to  the  pathway,  and  as  soon 
32 


VALSERINE 


as  she  got  to  it,  climbed  up  it  as  fast 
MS  she  could,  bent  nearly  double,  and 
taking  long  steps. 

Madame  Remy  called  her  again. 
There  was  a  kind  of  anguish  in  her 
voice,  and  she  seemed  to  be  overcom- 
ing some  weakness  in  it  when  she 
called — 

"Valserine,  dear,  wait  for  me.  I 
must  talk  to  you  at  once." 

She  made  a  movement  of  im- 
patience as  she  saw  the  child  climb- 
ing the  path  as  quickly  as  ever,  got 
her  three  children  out  of  the  cart  and 
climbed  up  the  steep  little  road  with 
them. 

Meanwhile  Valserine  had  already 
gone  into  the  house.  She  was 
bitterly  disappointed.  She  came  out 
again  almost  immediately  and 
uttered  a  long,  piercing  call.  She 
looked  away  into  the  distance  in 
every  direction,  but  she  could  see 
nothing  but  Grosgoigin  pushing  his 
horse  back  and  drawing  the  cart  to 
one  side  of  the  road,  and  Madame 
Remy  who  was  climbing  slowly  up 

33 


VALSERINE 


the  pathway,  dragging  a  child  along 
with  each  hand. 

Valserine  waited  a  few  moments 
longer,  and  as  nobody  answered  her 
call  she  ran  down  to  the  "keeper's 
room."  Nothing  had  been  moved 
there.  The  bundles  of  tobacco  were 
there  still  wrapped  up  in  brown 
paper,  and  the  tin  boxes  of  chocolate 
were  arranged  in  the  order  she  had 
left  them  when  she  went.  She  threw 
out  her  arms  in  a  gesture  of  dis- 
appointment and  went  out  of  the 
"keeper's  room,"  as  she  had  gone  out 
of  the  house,  with  the  idea  of  calling 
again.  She  fancied  that  she  had  not 
called  loud  enough  the  first  time, 
and  this  time  she  would  make  every 
effort  to  call  as  loudly  as  possible. 
But  at  that  moment  she  stepped 
back  as  though  a  mysterious  hand 
had  just  touched  her  face.  She 
suddenly  remembered  that  she  was 
standing  at  the  entrance  to  the 
keeper's  room,  and  as  if,  all  of  a 
sudden,  she  were  in  great  danger, 
she  bent  quickly  down  and  slipped 

34 


VALSERINE 


into  the  hiding-place  by  the  narrow 
passage.  She  half  sat,  half  leaned 
against  the  nearest  stone  and  listened 
for  sounds  from  outside. 

After  a  minute  or  two  Valserine 
noticed  that  it  was  much  lighter  than 
usual  in  the  keeper's  room.  Masses 
of  rock  which  she  had  always  thought 
were  black,  now  looked  the  same 
colour  as  the  others.  She  raised  her 
eyes  in  some  surprise,  and  was 
astonished  to  see  a  large  bit  of  blue 
sky  over  her  head.  She  jumped  up 
at  once  to  see  better,  and  saw  that 
the  gap  through  which  the  Customs' 
officer  had  dropped  his  stick  was 
much  larger  than  it  had  been. 

'  The  two  huge  stones  which  formed 
the  vault  were  a  long  way  apart  at 
one  end,  and  quite  close  together  at 
the  other,  where  they  almost  touched. 
And  when  the  child  looked  down  on 
the  long  strip  of  light  on  the  floor  of 
the  hiding-place,  which  looked  like  a 
piece  of  light-coloured  silk,  she  saw 
that  a  quantity  of  sand  had  slipped 
down  through  the  hole  and  made  a 

35 


VALSERINE 


hillock  which  had  drifted  and  spread 
over  a  large  part  of  the  floor.  She 
did  not  know  what  to  think  of  all 
this. 

When  Valserine  heard  Madame 
Remy's  voice  calling  her  again,  she 
stepped  forward  to  go  out,  but  the 
same  mysterious  fear  as  before  drove 
her  back  from  the  opening. 

Madame  Remy's  voice  had  been 
angry  at  first,  but  when  it  became 
anxious  and  despairing,  Valserine 
stopped  her  ears  so  as  not  to  hear  it. 

Silence  came  back  with  the  dark- 
ness. The  long  stretch  of  light  had 
gradually  climbed  out  again  through 
the  hole  in  the  top  of  the  cave. 
Valserine  remained  waiting  in  the 
dark  for  a  long  time.  She  jumped 
every  now  and  again  as  small  quan- 
tities of  sand  dropped  from  above. 
Then  she  thought  she  heard  her 
father's  steps  coming  along  the 
nearest  pathway.  It  occurred  to 
her  that  he  might  go  back  to  the 
house  without  having  any  idea  that 
his  daughter  was  waiting  for  him  in 

36 


VALSERINE 


the  keeper's  room,  and  she  left  it  as 
noiselessly  as  she  could. 

Nothing  was  moving  outside.  A 
cold  mist  rose  from  the  flower  and 
grass-covered  ground.  Valserine 
stumbled  over  the  big  moss-grown 
stones  round  the  hiding-place,  pulled 
herself  up  by  the  little  twisted  shrubs 
which  grew  in  the  hollows  of  the 
rocks,  and  when  she  got  to  the  house 
pushed  the  door  gently  open  and 
whispered — 

"Papa!" 

She  raised  her  voice  a  little 
and  called  again:  "Papa!"  She 
realized  that  there  was  no  one  in  the 
house,  and  that  she  had  made  a  mis- 
take when  she  thought  she  saw  the 
prisoner  stretched  on  his  bed.  But 
she  felt  so  certain  that  he  would 
come  in  in  a  minute  that  she  pushed 
the  door  to,  carefully  locking  it. 
She  found  her  way  in  the  dark  to  her 
little  bed,  and  before  she  lay  down 
on  it  she  could  not  help  passing  her 
hands  over  her  father's  bed  from  top 
to  bottom. 

37 


VALSERINE 


She  did  all  she  could  to  prevent  her 
eyes  from  closing. 

But  she  was  awakened  by  a  loud 
cry,  and  it  was  not  long  before  she 
understood  that  she  had  uttered  it 
herself.  She  was  silent  now.  No 
sounds  came  from  her  throat,  but 
her  breath  came  in  short  gasps,  and 
with  difficulty,  and  she  felt  that  the 
least  effort  on  her  part  would  make 
her  cry  aloud  again. 

She  passed  her  hands  over  her 
father's  bed  once  more,  but  this  time 
she  knew  perfectly  well  that  it  was 
empty.  She  only  touched  it  so  as  to 
be  less  lonely,  and  because  it  seemed 
that  a  friend  was  giving  her  his  hand. 

She  could  never  remember  having 
seen  the  night  so  dark,  and  every 
time  she  tried  to  shut  her  eyes,  fear 
made  her  open  them  again.  Then 
her  ears  began  to  buzz  with  a  little 
whistling  sound  in  them.  She  raised 
herself  on  her  bed  to  listen  better, 
and  the  sounds  seemed  to  fill  the 
whole  room.  She  got  the  idea  that 
a  spider  was  weaving  an  immense 

38 


VALSERINE 


web  round  her  bed,  and  the  idea  op- 
pressed her  so  that  she  breathed  as 
deeply  as  she  could.  Then,  all  of  a 
sudden  she  heard  her  heart  beating. 
She  listened  to  it  for  a  mo- 
ment and  said  aloud — "What  a 
noise  it  makes."  She  thought  that 
her  voice  sounded  like  somebody 
else's.  She  felt  every  nerve  in  her 
little  body  tighten,  and  her  heart 
thumped  with  a  duller  sound. 

When  she  was  a  little  calmer,  she 
noticed  that  the  old  cuckoo  clock  on 
the  "wall  was  not  ticking  any  longer. 
This  startled  her,  and  to  reassure 
herself  she  tried  to  find  out  exactly 
where  it  was  in  the  dark.  She 
wanted  to  talk  to  it  as  one  would  talk 
to  a  friend  who  was  sulking.  She 
wanted  to  go  and  pull  its  chains,  but 
she  didn't  dare  make  the  least  little 
movement,  for  fear  of  knocking 
against  the  unknown,  threatening 
thing  which  was  still  buzzing  in  her 
ears.  So  she  remained  quite  motion- 
less, with  her  eyes  wide  open  in  the 
darkness. 

39 


VALSERINE 


Day  came  at  last.  Valserine  saw 
it  trying  to  get  into  the  house,  under- 
neath the  door  and  through  the 
cracks  in  the  shutters.  She  saw  it 
gliding  slowly  and  gradually  to  the 
little  looking-glass  which  hung  near 
the  window,  along  the  narrow  beams 
of  the  ceiling,  and  she  saw  it  make 
its  way  into  every  corner  of  the 
room. 

As  soon  as  it  lit  up  the  yellow 
figures  on  the  face  of  the  old  cuckoo 
clock,  Valserine  jumped  off  the  bed 
and  gave  the  pendulum  a  friendly 
little  tap  with  her  finger.  When  the 
clock  began  to  tick,  the  buzzing 
sound  which  had  so  frightened  her 
stopped  altogether,  and  it  seemed  to 
her  that  nothing  in  the  house  was 
changed.  But  she  hunted  about  all 
over  the  room  as  though  she  expected 
to  find  some  strange  creature  there. 
She  took  a  broom  and  swept  under 
each  piece  of  furniture,  and  she 
swept  away  the  little  cobwebs  which 
had  formed  during  her  absence. 

The  beating  of  wings  and  two 
40 


VALSERINE 


little  taps  on  the  shutters,  made  her 
forget  the  mysterious  sound  of  the 
night.  The  turtle-dove  had  come  to 
say  "good-morning,"  and  to  be 
petted  as  she  used  to  pet  it. 

Valserine  threw  the  window  wide 
open,  and  the  bird  balanced  itself 
on  the  sill,  bowing  and  crooning  as 
though  it  had  a  thousand  things  to 
tell  her.  But  when  the  child 
stretched  out  her  hand  to  caress  it, 
it  flapped  its  wings  and  flew  away. 
Valserine  followed  it  with  her  eyes, 
not  daring  to  call  it  back.  And 
when  it  had  disappeared  in  the  top 
branches  of  the  tree,  she  went  away 
from  the  window  feeling  she  wanted 
to  cry. 

It  was  just  as  that  moment  that 
she  caught  sight  of  the  little  table 
with  her  school  books  on  it,  and 
she  remembered  immediately  the  old 
copy-book  which  the  smuggler  used 
to  use,  on  the  days  when  he  wanted 
his  child  to  help  him.  She  took  it 
up  and  turned  the  pages  over  quickly, 
reading  the  words  which  had  been 


VALSERINE 


written  in  between  the  lines  of  her 
own  work.  There  were  long  sen- 
tences explaining  to  the  little  girl 
what  she  was  to  do  when  she  came 
back  from  school,  but  most  of  them 
were  careful  directions  as  to  the 
road  the  smuggler  would  take  on 
his  way  back  to  the  house. 

Valserine  paused  at  the  last  words : 
"by  the  dove-cot,  at  the  bottom  of 
the  narrow  path." 

It  was  there  that  the  smuggler  had 
been  taken  by  the  Customs'  men. 
In  her  mind's  eye,  she  saw  once 
more,  her  father  fall  in  the  narrow 
pathway  which  the  wood-cutters  had 
made  from  the  top  to  the  bottom  of 
the  mountain,  as  a  road  by  which  to 
roll  down  the  trees  they  had  cut. 
She  saw  him  trying  to  pick  himself 
up,  half-way  up  the  incline,  and 
falling  again  on  his  face  against  the 
badly  squared  timber.  Now  this 
imprisonment  was  over,  and  it  would 
not  be  long  before  he  came  home 
again.  She  wiped  her  tears  away 
quickly  with  her  sleeve,  took  up  her 
42 


VALSERINE 


pen  and  wrote  in  the  middle  of  the 
line  below,  "Call  me." 

It  was  early  morning  still,  but 
Valserine  knew  by  the  color  of  the 
sky  that  the  sun  was  already  lighting 
up  the  glaciers  on  the  other  side  of 
the  mountain.  The  slope  facing  her 
was  still  wrapped  in  mist.  All  that 
one  could  see  of  it  were  the  white 
places  where  the  rock  was  bare,  and 
the  still  whiter  ones  where,  every 
spring,  the  melting  of  the  snow 
brought  landslips  with  it.  Valserine 
realized  for  the  first  time  that  she 
knew  the  names  of  the  neighbouring 
mountains.  She  pointed  each  one 
out  and  named  it,  as  though  she 
were  showing  them  to  somebody. 

A  little  way  to  the  right  was  Mont 
Rond,  on  the  left  was  La  Dole,  and 
almost  opposite  the  Faucille  Pass — 
the  pass  of  the  sickle. 

Valserine  no  longer  felt  worried. 
Little  by  little  the  sun  showed  itself 
above  the  Mont  Rond,  and  the  mist 
which  covered  the  valley  rose  and 
disappeared,  disclosing  the  white 

43 


VALSERINE 


houses  of  the  village  of  Mijoux  where 
the  Custom  house  is.  She  could  rec- 
ognize the  little  square  house  of  the 
Customs'  men  among  the  others. 
She  had  never  passed  in  front  of  its 
door,  without  feeling  a  little  bit 
afraid,  since  she  had  known  that  her 
father  was  a  smuggler.  Once  again 
the  child  had  the  notion  that  the 
prisoner  might  be  on  a  path  in  the 
neighbourhood.  Once  again,  with 
all  her  strength,  she  gave  the  call 
which  he  knew  so  well,  and  to  which 
he  had  always  replied.  But  the  call 
remained  unanswered,  as  yesterday's 
call  had  done.  She  did  not  feel 
nervous  about  it.  She  was  sure  that 
her  father  would  come,  and  that  he 
would  read  the  last  sentence  which 
she  had  written  in  the  copy-book. 
He  would  not  refuse  to  keep  her 
with  him  for  a  few  days,  and  then  she 
would  leave  him  and  go  back  to  the 
diamond  works  at  St.  Claude. 

Hunger  made  itself  felt,  and  she 
went  to  get  something  to  eat  from  the 
keeper's  room.  She  filled  her  pockets 
44 


V^ALSERINE 


with  chocolate  and  dried  biscuits, 
and  climbed  up  the  wooded  incline 
again,  crossing  the  little  paths  which 
ran  down  into  the  village  of  Mijoux, 
and  climbed  up  again  to  the  Faucille 
Pass.  She  wandered  about  in  the 
woods  a  long  time,  keeping  near  the 
pathway  which  used  to  be  a  road, 
but  which  was  overgrown  with  grass 
and  full  of  stones  now.  At  last  she 
came  to  a  clearing  from  which  she 
could  see  the  whole  of  the  town  of 
Gex,  where  the  prison  was.  The 
plain  of  Gex  had  never  seemed  so 
big,  and  the  Lake  of  Geneva  at  the 
end  of  it  made  her  think  of  a  large 
piece  of  stuff  which  had  faded  by 
long  use,  and  was  all  frayed  at  the 
edges.  It  seemed  to  her  that  every- 
thing she  saw  that  day  was  different 
to  what  she  had  ever  seen  before. 
The  old  man's  head,  with  its  long 
beard,  which  she  had  always  seen  at 
the  top  of  Mont  Blanc,  looked,  this 
morning,  like  a  dog  with  its  head 
raised  to  howl  at  the  sun.  And  the 
boats  on  the  lake,  with  their  large 

45 


VALSERINE 


pointed  sails  like  swallows'  wings, 
made  her  think  of  great  birds  which 
had  been  wounded  and  were  going  to 
drown. 

She  shut  her  eyes  so  as  to  try  and 
see  things  in  the  shapes  she  used  to 
see  them,  but  she  could  not.  This 
did  not  worry  her.  She  was  only 
sorry  that  her  father  was  not  there 
to  laugh  about  it  with  her  as  he  had 
laughed  the  first  time  they  came 
along  this  road  together,  when  she 
had  said  that  she  saw  everything 
upside  down.  It  was  just  at  this 
spot  where  she  was  now,  that  the 
smuggler  stopped  and  said  to  her: 
"You  have  no  luck.  We  can't  see 
the  Lake  of  Geneva  to-day."  And, 
dropping  the  point  of  his  stick  to- 
wards the  valley,  he  had  added: 
"See,  it  is  underneath  that  piled- 
up  heap  of  grey  clouds  which  you 
can  see  down  there.  Right  over 
yonder." 

But  Valserine  had  raised  her  hands 
at  once  towards  Mont  Blanc,  and 
had  shown  her  father  the  great  iake 


VALSERINE 


which  spreads  a  bright  blue  surface 
between  two  curly  clouds  above  the 
glaciers. 

Another  time  she  had  seen  Mont 
Blanc  in  flames,  but  she  had  under- 
stood at  once  that  it  was  only  lit 
up  by  the  sun.  This  morning  the 
mass  of  grey  clouds  no  longer 
covered  the  lake.  The  clouds  rose 
slowly  in  a  white  mist  up  to  the 
glaciers,  and  one  could  see  all  the 
roads  round  Gex. 

Valserine  watched  the  roads 
nearest  her.  It  struck  her  that  the 
people  on  them  took  much  longer 
than  was  necessary  to  get  from  one 
place  to  another.  They  seemed  to 
be  jumping  where  they  stood  instead 
of  walking  on,  and  every  movement 
they  made  seemed  full  of  significance 
to  her. 

When  evening  closed  in  Valserine 
made  up  her  mind  to  get  back  to 
the  house.  The  sun  was  setting 
over  Septmoncel,  and  when  the 
child  saw  how  red  it  was,  she  could 
not  keep  herself  from  trembling.  It 

47 


VALSERINE 


moved  along  slowly  through  an 
avenue  of  long  clouds  like  felled 
trees,  leaving  spots  of  shadow  on 
them  as  it  passed,  and  it  rolled  right 
into  a  big  black  cloud  which  seemed 
to  be  waiting  for  it.  Valserine 
thought  that  the  sun  had  set,  but 
almost  immediately  it  cleft  the  cloud 
in  two,  as  though  it  wanted  to  look 
at  the  child  again,  and  showed  itself 
with  a  round  top  to  it,  like  the  door 
in  the  house  of  the  Customs'  men 
at  Mijoux.  Then,  after  having 
stained  with  red  everything  around 
it,  it  disappeared  on  the  other  side  of 
the  mountain. 

Meanwhile  a  bird  was  flying  from 
one  tree  to  another,  making  the 
noise  which  scissors  make  when  one 
opens  and  shuts  them  without  cutting 
anything — tsic-tsic-tsic. 

Night  was  closing  in  slowly,  and 
Valserine,  who  had  never  been  afraid 
in  the  woods,  often  turned  round  and 
looked  behind  her.  From  time  to 
time  she  uttered  her  call  again,  but 
it  remained  unanswered.  Her  road 


VALSERINE 


took  her  past  the  house  of  Mere 
Marienne.  Valserine  had  known 
Mere  Marienne  a  long  time.  Every 
time  that  her  son  was  in  prison,  the 
old  woman  would  bring  her  eggs, 
and  her  kids  to  Valserine's  father, 
who  used  to  go  and  sell  them  for  her 
at  St.  Claude  or  at  Septmoncel. 

Valserine  knew  how  the  old  woman 
hated  the  Customs'  men.  She  had 
often  seen  her  throwing  stones  down 
at  them  from  the  paths  above,  and 
she  was  always  afraid  of  going  too 
close  to  her  because  of  her  eyes, 
which  never  kept  still,  and  always 
looked  suspicious.  But  that  evening 
she  felt  that  she  wanted  to  go  into 
the  old  woman's  house  and  talk  to 
her  about  her  father. 

She  had  seen  the  old  woman's  son 
the  same  morning  as  he  was  crossing 
the  road  on  his  way  to  Gex.  He 
must  be  back  by  now,  and  no  doubt 
he  knew  where  the  prisoner  was. 
She  only  made  up  her  mind  to  open 
the  door  after  she  had  walked  right 
round  the  house. 

49 


VALSERINE 


Mere  Marienne  was  standing  in 
front  of  a  table,  longer  than  it  was 
broad,  and  the  lamp  which  was  at 
the  corner  of  the  side-board,  lit  up 
one  of  her  fists  which  she  was  shaking 
as  though  she  were  going  to  strike 
somebody.  She  let  her  arm  drop 
when  she  recognized  Valserine,  and 
said  in  an  angry  voice:  "The  gens- 
darmes  have  been  past  here.  They 
are  looking  for  you."  Valserine  was 
not  sure  whether  Mere  Marienne  was 
angry  with  the  gensdarmes  or  with 
her,  but  she  summoned  up  her 
courage  and  answered:  "I  am 
waiting  for  my  father." 

Mere  Marienne  looked  at  the  child 
as  though  she  did  not  understand 
what  she  was  saying. 

"Yes,"  said  Valserine,  "he  is  out 
of  prison  now,  and  it  cannot  be  long 
before  he  comes  home." 

And  as  the  old  woman  stood 
staring  at  her  in  astonishment,  the 
child  added,  quickly :  "I  came  to  ask 
you  if  your  son  had  seen  him !" 

The  two  clenched  fists  of  Mere 
50 


VALSERINE 


Marienne  went  up  to  her  jaw  again, 
her  eyelids  quivered,  and,  stammer- 
ing as  though  her  words  were  hurting 
her  throat  as  she  spoke  them,  she 
shouted,  going  closer  to  Valserine: 

"They  have  killed  your  father! 
They  have  killed  him!  Didn't  you 
know  it?" 

Valserine  stood  looking  at  Mere 
Marienne's  furious  face,  and  fear 
made  her  stand  quite  still.  The  old 
woman  went  on  in  an  angry  voice. 
"They  have  killed  him  as  they  killed 
my  poor  husband  years  ago,  and  my 
son  went  to  Gex  this  morning  to  see 
him  put  into  his  grave."  She  put 
her  two  fists  to  her  eyes  as  though 
she  wanted  to  stop  herself  from 
saying  something  horrible,  and  Val- 
serine in  an  agony  of  terror,  ran  out 
of  the  house  again. 


VALSERINE 


CHAPTER  III 

SUMMER  was  just  over,  and  Val- 
serine  had  been  staying  in  Mere 
Marienne's  house  for  some  weeks 
now.  The  son  of  the  woman  had 
found  her  the  day  after  she  had 
learned  of  the  death  of  her  father, 
lying  on  the  ground  among  a  riot  of 
wild  cyclamen.  She  was  stiff  with 
cold  and  grief,  and  it  seemed  as 
though  the  poor  child  could  never 
stop  crying.  Mere  Marienne  was 
frightened  at  her  grief,  and  as 
though  her  own  troubles  could  lessen 
those  of  Valserine,  she  began  telling 
her  how  her  husband  had  been 
killed  by  the  Customs'  men: 

"His  name,"  she  said,  "was 
Catherin,  and  he  used  to  smuggle 
brandy.  He  often  went  away  for 
several  days  with  his  horse  and  his 
cart.  The  Customs'  men  tracked 
him  from  all  sides,  but  he  was  clever, 
and  knew  how  to  keep  out  of  their 
way.  He  was  very  brave  too,  and 
52 


VALSERINE 


when  the  Customs'  men  threatened 
him,  he  used  to  answer,  laughing: 
'As  long  as  I  am  alive,  you  won't 
take  me.'  But  one  night  they  closed 
the  gates  of  a  level  crossing  on  the 
railway  in  one  of  the  valleys.  My 
husband's  cart,  which  he  was  driving 
as  fast  as  he  could  down  the  steep 
road,  smashed  through  the  first  gate 
and  broke  up  against  the  second  one. 
When  the  Customs'  men  ran  up  to  see 
what  was  in  the  cart,  they  found 
Catherin's  body  bent  in  two  over 
the  broken  gate." 

The  old  woman  wrung  her  hands, 
and  in  a  voice  full  of  tears,  she  said: 
"  He  had  been  dead  for  two  days 
when  they  brought  him  back  to 


me." 


The  days  passed  and  each  one  of 
them  took  with  it  a  little  of  the  child's 
grief.  Now  she  would  remain  seated 
in  the  door-way  of  the  house  by  the 
hour  together.  She  sat,  all  hunched 
up  like  an  old  woman,  but  her  dark 
eyes  were  fixed  on  the  road  which 
ran  into  Gex,  and  which  could  be 

53 


,VALSERINE 


seen  here  and  there  through  the  pine 
trees.  She  saw  the  valley  with  its 
roads  and  its  villages,  and  her 
thoughts  dwelt  on  a  little  thin  tree 
all  by  itself  in  the  middle  of  a  meadow 
which  the  wind  swayed  and  bent  every 
moment. 

She  was  no  longer  afraid  of  Mere 
Marienne.  Sometimes  the  old 
woman  talked  to  her  as  one  talks 
to  a  child,  and  sometimes  as  if  she 
were  talking  to  another  woman,  and 
their  misfortune,  which  had  the 
same  cause,  was  like  a  bond  of 
relationship  between  them. 

Every  week  the  son  of  Mere 
Marienne  went  to  St.  Claude  and 
brought  back  several  dozen  pipes 
on  which  he  carved  figures  and  faces. 
He  used  to  put  his  basket  on  a  little 
table  which  he  set  outside  the  cottage 
near  the  door.  Valserine  used  to 
watch  him  at  work,  and  there  was 
perfect  peace  in  the  house. 

One  day  Mere  Marienne  came  and 
sat  down  near  the  child,  and  said 
to  her:  "Madame  Remy  wants  to 

54 


VALSERINE 


know  whether  you  will  go  back  to 
the  diamond  cutting?"  Valserine 
shook  her  head  to  say  "no,"  but  she 
answered  "yes."  The  old  woman 
said:  "You  have  worried  her  a 
great  deal.  She  lost  her  head 
entirely  that  night,  and  Grosgoigin 
could  not  get  her  to  make  up  her  mind 
to  go  back  to  St.  Claude  with  the  chil- 
dren." 

Valserine  looked  down  in  confusion 
and  Mere  Marienne  added  quickly: 
"She  isn't  angry  with  you,  and  asks 
nothing  better  than  to  look  after  you 
as  she  used  to." 

Valserine  did  not  answer.  She 
seemed  to  be  listening  to  the  rattling 
of  the  pipes,  which  Mere  Marienne's 
son  was  throwing  back  into  the 
basket  one  by  one,  after  having  held 
them  in  his  hands  a  moment.  Then, 
quite  suddenly,  she  looked  at  the 
old  woman  and  asked:  "Do  women 
make  pipes  too  ?" 

Mere  Marienne's  eyes  glittered  like 
cut  stones  as  she  answered:  "I  was 
a  pipe  polisher  before  I  married." 

55 


VALSERINE 


And  as  though  all  her  youth  came 
back  to  her  memory  at  once,  she 
began  to  speak  of  it.  She  spoke  to 
the  child  of  the  town  of  St.  Claude, 
and  the  Poyat  quarter  where  her 
parents  had  been  pipe-makers.  She 
told  her  how  the  pipe  polishers 
wrapped  their  hair  in  a  handkerchief 
to  protect  it  from  the  briar-root  dust 
which  dyed  black  hair  and  made  it 
a  deep  pink.  She  mentioned  the 
girls  with  whom  she  had  worked,  as 
though  Valserine  had  known  them. 
Adele  used  to  wear  a  blue  handker- 
chief; Agatha  always  wore  a  yellow 
one.  And  raising  her  head  she  said, 
"I  used  to  wear  a  red  one."  She 
stopped  speaking,  and  her  hand  went 
up  to  the  handkerchief  she  was 
wearing.  She  took  her  hand  away 
at  once  as  though  touching  the 
handkerchief  had  been  enough  to 
tell  her  that  it  was  a  black  one. 

There  was  a  long  silence.  Mere 
Marienne  was  living  through  her 
youth  again,  and  her  son  had  stopped 
carving  his  pipes.  Valserine  stood 

56 


VALSERINE 


up.  She  pushed  the  black  curls, 
which  covered  her  cheeks,  back  with 
her  two  hands,  and  in  a  firm  voice 
she  said,  "I  want  to  be  a  pipe 
polisher."  The  old  woman  stood 
up  too,  and  her  face  beamed  with 
happiness,  as  she  asked  the  girl, 
"Would  you  rather  polish  pipes 
than  diamonds?"  "Yes,"  said  Val- 
serine,  "pipes  are  better."  The  old 
woman  took  several  pipes  out  of  her 
son's  basket,  passed  them  from  one 
hand  to  the  other,  and  put  them 
gently  back  again,  saying,  "Diamonds 
are  good  for  nothing." 

A  few  days  afterwards  Mere 
Marienne's  son  came  back  from  St. 
Claude  with  the  answer  for  which 
Valserine  was  waiting.  The  child 
was  to  stay  with  some  pipe  makers, 
who  had  known  her  father  and  loved 
him,  and  she  would  go  to  the  pipe 
factory  every  day  instead  of  to  the 
diamond  works. 

The  day  before  she  left,  she  wanted 
to  climb  up  to  the  keeper's  room, 
but  as  she  was  walking  along  she 

57 


VALSERINE 


saw,  all  of  a  sudden,  that  the  mass  of 
earth  over  the  hiding-place  had 
fallen  in.  An  enormous  quantity 
of  sand  and  stones  had  slipped, 
Carrying  most  of  the  trees  on  the 
slope  down  with  them.  Several  of 
the  trees  were  half  buried,  and 
seemed  quite  dead.  Others  of  them 
were  leaning  with  all  their  branches 
pressed  against  those  which  had 
remained  upright.  Valserine  re- 
membered that  the  keeper's  room 
had  been  formed  by  a  landslip,  and 
she  seemed  to  hear  her  father's  voice 
again,  saying,  "There  was  such  a 
violent  storm  that  year  that  it  rav- 
aged the  whole  mountain-side,  and  did 
a  lot  of  damage  in  the  town  of 
St.  Claude." 

And  now  Valserine  could  go.  The 
keeper's  room  was  closed  for  ever, 
as  though  it  wanted  to  keep  the 
smuggler's  secret.  The  child  went 
into  her  house  and  remembered  the 
last  night  she  had  spent  there.  Her 
ears  filled  with  the  same  buzzing 
which  had  frightened  her  so  during 


VALSERINE 


the  night  in  which  she  waited  for 
the  prisoner's  return.  The  house 
was  full  of  light  to-day,  but  for  all 
that  thousands  of  tiny  harmonious 
voices  sang  together  in  the  air. 

And  when  Valserine  had  listened 
to  them  for  a  long  time  she  realized 
that  silence  had  voices  too,  which 
one  could  hear  when  one  listened  for 
them. 

Next  morning  when  Valserine  was 
leaving  for  St.  Claude,  Mere  Mari- 
enne  kept  her  back  for  one  moment  in 
the  doorway.  She  held  a  black  hand- 
kerchief in  her  hand,  and  gave  it  to 
the  girl  saying,  "Take  it,  it  will  be 
of  use  to  you  while  you  are  in 
mourning."  The  child  threw  her 
arms  round  Mere  Marienne  and  kissed 
her.  She  put  the  handkerchief  in  her 
pocket,  and  ran  to  catch  up  with  the 
old  woman's  son  who  was  already  on 
his  way  down  the  path. 

All  was  light  in  the  yalley  that 
morning,  and  a  fresh  wind  was 
tearing  the  clouds  into  bits,  though 
they  looked  as  though  they  wanted  to 

59 


VALSERINE 


rest  a  moment  on  the  mountain- 
side. At  the  point  where  the  path- 
way crossed  the  high  road,  Valserine 
saw  the  carrier's  cart  from  St.  Claude 
to  La  Faucille  passing  by,  and  could 
not  keep  herself  from  imitating  in  a 
low  voice,  the  voice  of  the  driver, 
"Allon  ...  Ion  ...  Ion."  Soon  aft- 
erwards the  pathway  ran  along  by 
the  side  of  the  Flumen  brook,  and 
children's  voices  shouting  to  one 
another  across  the  mountain  could 
no  longer  be  heard  in  this  closed-in 
bit  of  the  valley.  The  little  girl  kept 
up  with  the  long  steps  of  Mere 
Marienne's  son  without  feeling  tired. 
She  was  beginning  to  feel  very  happy, 
and  she  hardly  heard  the  noise  of 
the  brook  as  it  danced  from  one  stone 
to  another. 

They  soon  passed  through  the 
villages  of  Coiserette  and  La  Renfile, 
and  just  as  they  were  going  into  St. 
Claude,  Valserine  saw,  by  the  road- 
side, a  birch  which  had  lost  all  its 
leaves  during  the  night,  and  she 
stopped  to  look  at  the  leaves  which  lay 
60 


VALSERINE 


on  the  ground  like  a  piece  of 
faded  clothing.  They  went  quickly 
down  the  rough  street  of  La  Poyat, 
and  Valserine  and  Mere  Marienne's 
son  went  into  the  pipe  factory 
together.  She  crossed  the  large  shed 
where  the  saws  were  screeching  as 
they  shaped  the  briar-roots.  She  saw 
the  fine  chips  flying  around  her,  and 
on  to  her,  from  the  benches,  while 
the  lathes  and  the  drills  buzzed  like 
a  swarm  of  bumble  bees  in  the 
meadows.  She  looked  at  the  open, 
energetic  faces  of  the  workmen,  and 
when  Mere  Marienne's  son  took  her 
into  the  shed  where  the  polishers 
were  at  work,  she  looked  fearlessly 
at  the  women  who  all  stood  and 
stared  at  the  door,  as  though  they 
were  expecting  her  to  come. 

She  just  had  time  to  see  the  pipe- 
shaped  stove  in  the  middle  of  the 
shed,  when  one  of  the  women  came 
to  fetch  her,  and  to  take  her  to  her 
place.  The  woman  walked  in  front 
of  her,  pushing  the  baskets  out  of 
the  way  with  her  foot,  and  when  she 

61 


VALSERINE 


had  helped  the  child  to  put  on  a 
polisher's  blouse,  she  offered  her  a 
handkerchief  of  the  same  colour  as 
that  which  she  was  wearing  herself. 
Valserine  thanked  her  gratefully, 
and  a  smile  lit  up  her  little  face  as 
she  put  the  blue  handkerchief  gently 
to  one  side.  Then  she  took  out  of 
her  pocket  the  one  which  Mere 
Marienne  had  given  her  that  morn- 
ing, and  she  covered  her  hair  with  it. 


MOTHER  AND  DAUGHTER 

MADAME  PELISSAND 
came  into  the  little  room. 
She  walked  around  it  twice, 
holding  a  basketful  of  stockings  and 
balls  of  darning  wool.  She  stopped  in 
front  of  an  armchair  as  though  she 
were  going  to  sit  in  it,  but  pushed  it 
away,  and  sat  down  on  a  chair  near 
the  piano.  Marie  Pelissand  stopped 
playing  immediately.  She  knew  that 
her  mother  did  not  like  music,  and 
though  she  was  sorry  that  she  could 
not  finish  the  piece  she  was  fond  of 
she  wheeled  round  on  the  stool  and 
turned  over  the  pages  of  some  books 
on  the  table.  Madame  Pelissand, 
holding  her  basket  on  her  knees,  said 
without  looking  at  her  daughter, 
"You  can  go  on  playing,  Marie." 
This  time  Marie  turned  and  looked 

63 


MOTHER  AND  DAUGHTER 

at  her  mother.  There  was  surprise 
in  her  look  which  seemed  to  say  out 
loud,  "Whatever  is  the  matter  with 
her?" 

For  some  days  past  Madame  Pelis- 
sand  had  not  been  the  same.  She 
never  used  to  come  into  the  room 
while  her  daughter  was  at  the  piano. 
She  hated  the  fact  that  Marie  was  a 
governess  and  spent  all  her  time 
teaching,  but  during  the  last  few 
days  she  had  always  remained  in  the 
dining-room  while  Marie  corrected 
her  pupils'  work.  Last  night  she 
had  sat  quite  close  to  her  daughter, 
and  Marie  had  seen  her  raise  her 
head  and  open  her  mouth  several 
times  as  if  she  were  going  to  speak. 
But  each  time  she  had  dropped  her 
head  again  in  silence  and  had  looked 
uncomfortable. 

Marie  did  not  like  to  turn  to  the 
piano  again,  but  her  mother  repeated 
in  the  same  clear  tone  as  before, 
"You  can  go  on  playing,  Marie." 

Marie  turned  to  the  piano,  but  her 
fingers  had  lost  their  cunning,  and 


MOTHER  AND  DAUGHTER 

she  did  not  care  for  her  favourite 
piece.  She  looked  sideways  at  her 
mother.  Madame  Pelissand  was 
looking  at  the  carpet,  and  her  hands 
clutched  the  basket  of  old  stockings. 
One  moment  Marie  saw  so  clearly 
that  she  was  making  the  movement 
people  make  when  they  are  going  to 
say  something  that  she  stopped 
playing  and  asked,  "What  is  the 
matter,  mother?" 

Madame  Pelissand  opened  her  eyes 
and  threw  out  her  hands  as  though 
she  wanted  to  push  the  question 
awray  from  her.  She  got  up,  then 
sat  down  at  once,  and  suddenly 
looking  into  her  daughter's  face  she 
said  very  quickly,  "I  want  to  get  ' 
married  again." 

Marie  thought  it  was  a  joke.  She 
threw  her  head  back  and  began  to 
laugh,  but  her  mother  took  hold  of 
her  arm  and  said  in  a  rough  voice, 
"I  don't  see  anything  to  laugh  at." 

Marie  stopped  laughing  at  once  as 
she  had  stopped  playing.  She  under- 
stood now  that  her  mother  was  telling 

65 


MOTHER  AND  DAUGHTER 

the  truth,  and  it  stunned  her.  She 
looked  at  her  mother  again.  She 
saw  her  white  hair  which  tried  to 
fluff  out  at  the  temples.  She  looked 
at  her  swollen  face,  her  sinking 
shoulders,  and  her  bony  hands,  and 
she  could  not  help  saying,  "But 
mother,  you  are  fifty-eight." 

"I  know,"  said  Madame  Pelis- 
sand;  "and  what  then,  what  then, 
pray?" 

Marie  did  not  know  what  to  say. 
There  were  tears  in  her  eyes  as 
she  said,  "And  what  about  me, 
mother  ?" 

Madame  Pelissand  pushed  her 
chair  back  a  little,  her  eyes  grew 
hard,  and  as  though  she  were  taking 
her  revenge  for  something  unkind 
which  had  been  said  to  her  she 
answered,  "Oh,  you  are  old  enough, 
my  dear,  to  live  alone."  She 
drummed  on  the  stockings  in  the 
basket,  and  added,  "You  reproach 
me  with  my  fifty-eight  years,  but 
you  seem  to  forget  that  you  are 
thirty-seven." 
66 


MOTHER  AND  DAUGHTER 

"I  don't  forget  it,"  said  Marie, 
"but—" 

"But  what?"  said  Madame  Pelis- 
sand. 

"I  was  thinking,"  said  Marie, 
"that  you  have  always  prevented 
me  from  getting  married  because  you 
did  not  want  to  live  all  by  yourself, 
and  now  you  are  going  to  leave  me." 

Madame  Pelissand  remained  silent, 
and  Marie  did  not  dare  say  all  that 
she  had  in  her  heart  to  say.  After 
a  long  silence  Madame  Pelissand 
went  on: — 

"I  am  going  to  marry  Monsieur 
Tardi.  You  know  whom  I  mean,  do 
you  not?  He  asked  me  to  marry 
him  when  he  was  a  young  man  of 
twenty.  My  parents  considered  him 
too  young  and  would  not  let  us 
marry." 

Marie  nodded  her  head  to  show 
that  she  remembered  the  story  that 
her  mother  had  told  her. 

"He  married  some  one  else,"  said 
Madame  Pelissand,  "but  he  has 
always  loved  me.  He  became  a 


MOTHER  AND  DAUGHTER 

widower  three  months  ago,  and  last 
week  he  asked  me  to  marry  him." 
After  a  pause  she  added,  "He  lives 
in  the  south,  and  I  am  going  to  live 
there  with  him." 

Marie  raised  her  head,  which  had 
dropped  a  little,  and  said  quietly, 
"You  are  not  obliged  to  marry  this 
gentleman  just  because  he  asks  you 
to." 

Madame  Pelissand  made  a  feeble 
gesture  with  her  hand,  and  Marie 
went  on,  "Every  time  a  man  asked 
me  to  marry  him  you  forbade  me 
to  accept  him."  Her  mother  looked 
down.  "And  when  I  wanted  to 
marry  Julian,  whom  I  loved,  you 
prevented  me  from  doing  so,  and  said 
that  it  was  my  duty  not  to  desert  you. 
You  told  me  that  my  father's  death 
had  left  us  poor.  I  worked  and  put 
my  happiness  to  one  side,  and  now 
when  I  know  that  Julian  has  grown 
tired  of  waiting  for  me  and  has 
married  some  one  else  you  come  and 
tell  me  that  you  are  going  to  leave 
me  all  alone  and  are  going  to  marry 
68 


MOTHER  AND  DAUGHTER 

a  man  whom  you  have  never  loved 
and  who  has  been  a  stranger  to  you 
for  thirty-five  years." 

Madame  Pelissand's  head  had 
dropped  forward  until  her  forehead 
almost  touched  her  breast.  All  that 
was  to  be  seen  was  at  the  back  of  her 
neck,  where  the  flesh  formed  two 
cords.  Marie  kept  silent,  waiting 
for  her  mother  to  speak.  But 
Madame  Pelissand  remained  with  her 
head  obstinately  bent,  and  Marie 
went  on: — 

"I  did  my  duty  by  remaining  with 
you.  Will  you  do  yours  by  refusing 
this  marriage,  or  do  you  mean  to 
leave  me  to  live  all  alone?  Come, 
mother,  speak.  What  have  you  to 
say?"  ' 

Madame  Pelissand  raised  her  head 
a  little  and  replied,  "I  am  going  to 
get  married  because  I  don't  want  to 
remain  with  you  any  longer." 

Marie  moved  her  face  close  to  her 
mother's  and  asked,  "Why?  What 
do  you  reproach  me  with?" 

"Many  things." 

69 


"What  are  they,  mother  ?" 
".You  are  more  intelligent  and  you 
know  more  than  I  do."  Marie 
opened  her  eyes  wide.  "You  sit  by 
the  hour  together  dreaming  about 
things  of  which  you  do  not  speak, 
and  when  our  friends  come  to  see  us 
you  always  talk  to  the  men  and  I 
don't  understand  what  you  are 
talking  about.  You  choose  all  my 
books  for  me,  and  if  I  try  to  read 
yours  they  are  all  about  things 
which  I  do  not  understand.  You 
choose  the  colour  of  my  dresses  and 
the  shape  of  my  hats  for  me.  You 
earn  the  money  we  live  on,  and 
though  I  give  orders  to  the  servant 
she  never  obeys  them  without  asking 
you  first.  Everything  is  changed 
here  now.  You  have  become  the 
mother  and  I  the  child.  I  am  afraid 
of  being  scolded  when  I  say  a  word, 
and  although  you  are  gentle  and  kind 
enough  I  am  afraid  of  you  when  you 
look  at  me." 

There  was  a  long  silence.  Marie 
was  in  deep  thought,  and  one  of  her 
70 


MOTHER  AND  DAUGHTER 

hands  played  with  the  keys  of  the 
piano.  Madame  Pelissand  began  to 
cry  softly.  Then  she  said  timidly  to 
her  daughter,  "Let  me  marry  Mon- 
sieur Tardi." 

Marie  got  up  from  the  stool  and 
leaned  over  her  mother.  She  wiped 
her  eyes,  kissed  the  elder  woman 
gently  on  the  forehead,  and  said — 

"Yes,  marry  Monsieur  Tardi, 
mother,  so  that  one  of  us  at  least 
may  have  a  little  happiness." 


THE  QUEEN'S   BARGE 

HIS  Aunt  Maria  had  punished 
him  that  morning  and  for- 
bidden him  to  go  down  to 
the  riverside.  She  was  very  angry 
and  she  said,  "You  will  see  that 
this  bad  boy  will  end  by  drowning 
himself  as  his  father  did." 

As  soon  as  she  lost  sight  of  the 
child  she  screamed  after  him  in  her 
high  voice,  "Michel,  Michel." 

All  the  morning  Michel  sulked  and 
cried  at  the  back  of  the  house,  but 
towards  evening  he  was  down  again 
on  the  tow-path  without  quite  know- 
ing how  he  had  got  there.  He  never 
got  tired  of  watching  the  barges 
which  went  up  and  down  the  river. 
They  were  so  big,  so  heavy,  and  so 
tightly  shut.  As  each  one  passed 
he  tried  to  guess  what  it  was  carrying. 
72 


THE  QUEEN'S  BARGE 


That  grey  one  must  have  stone  in  it. 
That  great  black  one  carried  iron  no 
doubt,  and  those  which  slipped  so 
quietly  down  the  river  must  be  full 
to  the  brim  with  secret  news.  He 
often  trotted  down  the  tow-path  and 
followed  the  barges  for  a  long  way, 
and  the  bargees  chatted  with  him 
from  the  middle  of  the  river.  They 
could  see  that  he  was  not  like  the 
other  children  of  the  neighbourhood. 
And  he  always  told  them  that  he 
came  from  Paris  and  that  his  own 
home  was  near  the  canal  of  St. 
Martin. 

He  was  always  thinking  about  this 
canal  of  St.  Martin  in  Paris,  where  he 
had  been  so  happy  with  his  father, 
who  used  to  work  at  unloading  boats. 
He  remembered  the  games  he  used 
to  play  with  his  comrades  on  the 
sand  heaps  which  the  barges  emptied 
out  on  to  the  bank. 

Sometimes  a  boat  brought  bricks 
along.  Then  he  used  to  build  houses, 
which  fell  down  every  time  a  cart 
passed.  But  what  he  enjoyed  most 

73 


THE  QUEEN'S  BARGE 


was  watching  the  unloading  of  a 
cargo  of  pottery.  On  those  days  he 
did  not  want  to  play  at  all.  He 
used  to  remain  quite  still,  watching 
the  great  two-handled  vases,  the 
little  blue  pots,  and  the  flower- 
covered  cups  which  were  so  pretty 
that  he  always  longed  to  carry  off 
one  of  them  under  his  pinafore. 

Then  when  his  father  had  done  his 
day's  work  they  used  to  go  home 
together  to  their  room  on  the  sixth 
floor,  from  the  window  of  which  they 
could  see  the  canal.  They  used  to 
have  dinner  at  the  little  table  near 
the  window.  He  would  say  what  he 
had  done  at  school,  and  his  father 
loved  to  hear  him  talk.  And  before 
he  went  to  bed  he  always  used  to 
insist  on  his  father  telling  him  a 
story.  They  were  always  stories  of 
watermen  and  bargemen.  There  was 
one  in  particular  of  which  he  was 
very  fond  that  began  like  this — 

"Once  upon  a  time  there  was  a 
waterman  who  owned  a  barge  which 
was  so  pretty,  so  pretty,  that  all  the 
74 


THE  QUEEN'S  BARGE 


ladies  and  their  daughters  came  down 
to  the  lock  to  see  it  pass." 

He  missed  St.  Martin's  lock  enor- 
mously. He  could  see  it  every  time 
he  thought  of  it  with  the  little  bridge 
over  which  people  had  to  cross  one 
by  one.  He  could  see  the  big  lock 
in  which  the  barges  lay  and  sulked, 
as  though  they  had  been  shut  up  for 
punishment,  and  the  reflections  of 
the  houses  in  the  water  which  were 
all  upside  down.  There  was  a  big 
factory  opposite,  too,  which  threw 
out  such  a  lot  of  hot  water  into  the 
canal  that  the  whole  lock  used  to 
smoke  as  though  there  was  fire  at 
the  bottom  of  it.  He  was  fond  of 
this  factory  with  its  nine  big  chim- 
neys. He  never  passed  it  without 
counting  them.  Sometimes  all  the 
nine  chimneys  smoked  at  the  same 
time.  That  used  to  make  a  big 
cloud  which  settled  down  and  made 
a  kind  of  bridge  over  the  water. 

And  then  his  great  misfortune 
happened.  One  day  after  school  he 
did  not  find  his  father  on  the  bank 

75 


THE  QUEEN'S  BARGE 


of  the  canal.  The  bargeowner  had 
said  to  him,  "Go  home,  my  little 
chap,  your  father  is  not  coming  back 
here." 

Two  days  afterwards  his  Aunt 
Maria  had  come  and  taken  him  away 
to  the  Ardennes.  He  did  not  love 
his  Aunt  Maria,  who  beat  him  for 
everything  and  for  nothing,  and  who 
used  to  prevent  him  from  going  to 
see  the  barges  of  which  he  was  so 
fond. 

All  the  barges  were  like  those  of 
the  canal  of  St.  Martin.  But  here 
they  were  drawn  by  horses,  while  in 
Paris  the  men  used  to  tug  at  them 
to  pass  them  through  the  lock.  They 
were  harnessed  by  twos  or  by  fours, 
one  behind  the  other.  They  wore 
a  large  strap  round  their  shoulders 
like  a  halter  and  they  pulled  just 
like  horses,  stretching  their  necks 
and  tugging  with  the  straps. 

Here  the  river  ran  between  two 
mountains  which  were  ever  so  much 
larger  than  the  houses  in  Paris. 
The  water  of  the  river  was  so  clear 


THE  QUEEN'S  BARGE 


that  it  reflected  the  mountains  right 
up  to  the  sky.  On  the  other  side 
of  the  river  three  great  rocks  jutted 
out  from  the  mountain.  The  people 
used  to  call  them  "the  Ladies  of  the 
River."  They  had  not  any  heads, 
but  one  could  see  that  they  had  been 
ladies  once  because  the  great  folds 
of  their  dresses  still  spread  out  down 
to  the  meadows. 

Michel  had  been  sitting  opposite 
the  three  rocks  for  some  time  when 
he  heard  the  sound  of  merry  little 
bells  in  the  distance.  It  came  down 
to  him  like  a  song.  The  little  bells 
were  so  bright  and  so  merry  that  he 
began  to  imitate  their  singing — 

"Teen,  teegleen,  cleen,  cleen, 
cleen;  teegleen,  cleen.  .  .  ." 

Two  men  who  were  going  along  the 
tow-path  stopped  to  listen,  and 
Michel  heard  one  of  them  say,  "It 
must  be  the  Queen's  barge  coming." 
Directly  afterwards  the  child  saw 
two  splendid  white  horses  come  down 
the  tow-path.  They  were  covered 
all  over  with  a  net,  the  long  fringes 

77 


THE  QUEEN'S  BARGE 


of  which  swung  under  their  bodies. 
On  their  heads  were  great  topknots 
with  silver  and  gold  coins  on  them, 
and  they  walked  along  quite  tire- 
lessly as  though  it  were  a  pleasure 
to  pull  the  huge  barge  and  make  the 
little  bells  ring. 

The  man  who  led  the  horses  looked 
happy  and  strong.  His  right  hand 
was  on  the  back  of  the  first  horse, 
and  in  his  left  he  carried  a  whip 
which  he  held  like  a  lance.  It  had 
ribbons  upon  it  that  floated  in  the 
air. 

The  barge  came  nearer,  and  Michel 
thought  he  had  never  seen  one  half 
so  fine.  It  looked  quite  new  with 
its  great  white  hull  and  its  broad 
coloured  stripes.  Its  name,  the 
Queen,  was  painted  in  large  letters 
which  shone  in  the  water  upside 
down,  and  danced  and  wriggled  as 
he  looked  at  them.  Right  up  in 
front  a  bird  was  singing  in  a  little 
cage,  and  amidships,  sitting  near  a 
bed  of  green  plants  and  flower  pots, 
Michel  saw  the  queen  of  the  barge. 

78 


THE  QUEEN'S  BARGE 


She  was  sitting  on  a  yellow-gold 
chair.  Her  white  dress  was  pulled 
up  quite  high.  Her  legs  were 
crossed,  and  the  dog  which  was  lying 
at  her  feet  was  of  the  same  colour 
as  her  golden  stockings.  Her 
flowing  hair  fell  down  to  her  waist, 
and  on  each  side  of  her  forehead  a 
knot  of  ribbon  was  tied  into  her 
golden  curls,  which  fell  down  on  to 
her  cheeks. 

She  did  not  look  like  the  other 
daughters  of  watermen  whom  Michel 
had  seen,  and  when  he  saw  her  he 
understood  that  she  must  have  the 
most  beautiful  barge  in  the  world. 

In  a  moment  Michel  remembered 
the  story  which  his  father  used  to 
tell  him:  "And  the  waterman  who 
owned  this  pretty,  pretty  barge  had 
a  daughter  who  was  so  beautiful,  so 
beautiful,  that  all  the  kings  of  the 
earth  wanted  to  marry  her." 

Michel  got  up  when  the  barge 
passed  in  front  of  him.  The  boy's 
sudden  movement  woke  up  the  dog, 
who  jumped  up  and  barked.  But 

79 


THE  QUEEN'S  BARGE 


the  waterman's  daughter  made  him 
quiet  by  just  holding  out  her  hand, 
and  she  smiled  at  Michel. 

At  that  moment  the  sun  lit  up 
nothing  but  the  top  of  the  mountain. 
The  river  had  become  clearer  than  a 
mirror.  One  could  not  tell  whether 
the  mountain  was  above  it  or  below 
it.  The  meadow  went  on  into  the 
middle  of  the  river,  and  one  could 
see  the  long  grass  trembling  in  the 
water.  The  sound  of  the  silver  bells 
grew  fainter,  and  the  barge  moved 
slowly  away.  The  river  seemed  to 
have  become  as  narrow  as  St.  Mar- 
tin's lock,  and  the  barge  seemed  to 
be  grazing  the  two  banks. 

All  of  a  sudden  Michel  saw  that 
the  barge  was  going  to  disappear 
round  the  bend  in  the  river.  He  was 
sorry  that  he  had  not  followed  it  as 
he  had  often  followed  other  boats. 
He  went  closer  to  the  water  to  see  it 
better,  and  left  the  tow-path  to  run 
down  the  meadow  which  he  saw  in 
the  water.  But  at  the  first  step 
he  took  the  meadow  disappeared, 
80 


THE  QUEEN'S  BARGE 


and  the  river   opened   and  received 
him. 

A  few  minutes  afterwards  Aunt 
Maria's  screaming  voice  called 
"Michel,  Michel."  But  nobody 
answered.  And  as  she  listened  to 
the  little  sounds  of  evening  she  heard 
in  the  distance  the  sound  of  silver 
bells  so  faint  and  yet  so  clear  that 
they  seemed  to  be  ringing  in  the 
water.  And  in  spite  of  the  uneasi- 
ness which  was  growing  on  her  she 
could  not  keep  herself  from  mur- 
muring quite  low,  "Teen4  teen,  tee- 
gleen,  teen,  teen." 


81 


FIRE! 

THE  first  alarm  came  from  the 
third  floor.  It  was  dull  and 
muffled,  as  though  the  man 
who  had  shouted  were  half  suffocated. 
All  the  people  in  the  house  must  have 
heard  it,  but  nobody  moved.  It 
was  as  though  they  were  waiting 
for  a  second  warning.  It  came, 
after  a  moment,  a  little  louder,  and 
was  followed  almost  immediately 
by  a  third,  very  loud  and  insistent. 
In  a  moment  the  whole  house 
seemed  to  be  shaken  into  life.  The 
windows  and  the  doors  banged. 
Shrieks  of  women  and  oaths  of  men 
were  heard,  and  the  stair-case  shook 
as  people  came  rushing  down.  The 
voice  which  had  shouted  first,  rang 
out  now  like  a  copper  instrument. 
It  went  in  through  the  doors  and  out 
82 


FIRE! 

of  the  windows,  out  into  the  night, 
shouting  into  the  neighbouring 
houses  its  alarm  cry  of  "Fire! 
Fire!  Fire !" 

The  five  people  who  lived  on  the 
sixth  floor  were  the  last  to  open 
their  doors.  There  was  no  need  for 
them  to  ask  what  the  matter  was. 
The  window  on  the  landing  showed 
them  at  once  that  the  saw-mill  at 
the  end  of  the  court  was  on  fire. 
Large  piles  of  planks  were  blazing 
up  from  all  sides,  and  the  wind  shook 
up  the  fragments  and  slapped  the 
flames  against  the  walls  of  the  house. 

There  was  no  time  to  be  lost,  for 
gusts  of  terrible  heat  rushed  in 
through  the  windows  on  the  stair- 
case, and  gusts  of  smoke  with  them. 

The  painter  could  not  get  his  arm 
into  the  second  sleeve  of  his  coat. 
It  slipped  down  the  lining  time  and 
again  without  finding  the  sleeve. 
He  turned  to  his  neighbour,  the  girl 
from  the  post-office,  and  said,  in 
the  tone  of  a;man  who  understands 
these  things — 

83 


FIRE! 

"What  a  wonderful  blaze." 

The  post-office  clerk  did  not  listen 
to  him.  She  ran  in  and  out  of  her 
room  in  her  night-dress.  Her  feet 
were  bare,  and  she  kept  on  saying: 
"I  cannot  go  downstairs  until  I  am 
properly  dressed." 

At  the  other  end  of  the  passage, 
Francette,  the  kept  woman,  ran 
after  her  cat,  which  she  would  not 
leave  to  its  fate.  She  pushed  the 
chairs  about  and  called  in  a  small 
voice:  "Puss,  puss,  puss."  She 
came  out  of  her  room  at  last  with 
her  cat  in  her  arms.  Her  legs  were 
bare,  and  she  had  yellow  boots  on, 
which  she  had  had  no  time  to  button. 
On  her  shoulders  was  a  white  blanket 
which  dragged  behind  her,  like  the 
train  of  a  queen's  cloak. 

As  she  ran  down  the  passage,  she 
passed  the  dressmaker  who  was 
locking  her  door  carefully,  as  though 
to  prevent  the  fire  from  getting  in. 

The  only  one  left  in  her  room  was 
the  little  consumptive  girl.  All  she 
had  on  was  a  little  black  petticoat 


FIRE! 

and  a  cape,  which  did  not  fasten  in 
front.  The  dressmaker  told  her  to 
be  quick  and  come  downstairs,  but 
she  was  obstinate,  and  struggled 
with  her. 

"I  want  my  letter,"  said  the  little 
girl.  "I  have  a  letter,  and  I  won't 
go  without  it." 

She  found  it  on  a  chair  near  her 
bed,  in  spite  of  the  darkness  which 
the  smoke  was  beginning  to  make  in 
her  room.  Then  she  ran  down  as 
quickly  as  she  could,  hiding  her 
mouth  with  the  letter.  The  dress- 
maker ran  after  her,  holding  her 
breath,  and  half  closing  her  eyes, 
which  smarted  and  burned  with  the 
smoke. 

Down  below  they  found  Francette 
the  kept  woman,  the  painter  and  the 
post-office  clerk,  all  of  whom  gave  a 
deep  sigh  of  relief  when  they  saw 
them.  The  crowd  gathered  quickly. 
One  wondered  where  all  the  people 
came  from,  at  that  hour  of  the  night. 
They  all  looked  as  though  they  had 
strolled  up  during  an  after-dinner 

8s 


FIRE! 

walk,  and  one  saw  as  though  it  were 
broad  daylight,  young  people  in 
couples,  old  gentlemen  alone,  and 
women  with  their  children  in  their 
arms. 

The  voice  which  had  given  the 
first  alarm,  came  out  of  a  passage  and 
asked  whether  the  firemen  had  been 
sent  for.  Nobody  answered.  Then 
there  was  a  hurried  movement  in  the 
crowd  as  though  people  were  moving 
aside  to  let  somebody  in  a  hurry  come 
through.  A  moment  afterwards  the 
tune  of  the  fire  escapes  was  heard. 
Only  two  notes,  but  so  close  together 
and  repeated  so  insistently,  that  they 
sounded  like  a  tune  of  which  the 
crowd  knew  the  words.  One  heard 
from  all  sides:  "Here  they  are! 
Already!  They  have  got  the  ladder 
with  them!  How  their  helmets 
shine!" 

Huge  supple  hoses  unrolled  to- 
wards the  water  taps,  and  the  ladder 
slipped  off  its  cart  and  ran  up  to  the 
second  floor  balcony.  These  things 
seemed  to  happen  by  themselves. 
86 


FIRE! 

The  entry  to  the  house  was  as  black 
as  the  passage  into  a  cave.  The 
firemen  went  in,  they  looked  grave 
and  careful,  and  each  man  carried  a 
lighted  torch.  They  looked  like  de- 
termined and  devoted  men  on  their 
way  to  attack  a  monster  and  save 
their  fellows. 

As  though  it  had  recognized  them, 
the  fire  burst  into  violent  flames. 
Blazing  bits  of  wood  leaped  into  the 
air  and  fell  on  to  the  little  sixth  floor 
balconies.  Sparks  whirled  up  in  a 
mad  flutter  and  scattered  on  the 
neighbouring  roof  tops,  some  of  them 
even  dancing  down  the  chimneys. 

There  was  a  dead  silence,  and  all 
of  a  sudden  the  firemen  were  seen  on 
the  roof  of  the  house.  They  sepa- 
rated and  stood  firmly,  their  legs  a  lit- 
tle apart.  Then,  they  laid  hold  of  the 
hoses  and  turned  them  on  the  flames. 
The  flames  dropped  and  somebody 
shouted:  "They  have  got  it  under." 
The  voices  down  below  rose  up  in 
one  loud  shout  of  admiration  for  the 
firemen.  [The  people  clapped  their 

87, 


FIRE! 

hands  so  loudly  that  the  roaring  of 
the  fire  was  silenced,  and  a  few 
moments  afterwards  the  crowd 
moved  about  the  street  and  talked, 
as  people  move  about  a  theatre  be- 
tween the  acts.  Francette,  the  kept 
woman,  got  the  most  pity.  Her 
blanket  kept  slipping  off  her  shoul- 
ders every  moment,  and  as  she  tried 
to  catch  it,  every  one  could  see  that 
she  had  nothing  on  but  her  night- 
dress. She  disappeared  in  the  crowd, 
and  was  taken  into  a  cafe. 

The  post-office  clerk  never  stopped 
trying  to  keep  up  her  hair  which  was 
slipping  down.  The  painter  gave 
her  his  arm,  and  the  two  of  them 
turned  into  a  dark  street  together. 
Little  by  little  the  saw-mill  stopped 
burning.  There  was  silence  on  the 
Boulevard,  and  the  people  went 
back  to  their  homes. 

The  five  tenants  of  the  sixth  floor 
met  together  on  the  landing.  The 
painter,  whose  bed  had  been  burnt, 
went  into  the  post-office  clerk's  room 
to  see  what  damage  the  fire  had  done. 
88 


.  FIRE ! 

Francette,  the  kept  woman,  said 
that  she  was  too  much  afraid  to 
remain  in  her  room  that  night,  and 
was  going  to  the  house  of  a  woman 
she  knew.  There  was  nobody  left 
on  the  landing  but  the  dressmaker 
and  the  little  consumptive  girl. 
Their  rooms  had  no  windows  left. 
The  two  of  them  sat  down  on  the 
stairs.  The  little  consumptive  girl 
flattened  her  letter  against  her 
breast  with  one  hand,  as  though  it 
kept  her  warm  when  she  held  it 
there.  Nothing  more  was  heard  but 
the  firemen  as  they  went  about  the 
house  filling  it  with  noise  and  with 
water. 


CATICHE 

THE  doctor  on  duty  had  taken 
her  in  at  once,  because  she 
had  St.  Vitus'  Dance.  They 
took  her  into  the  big  ward  where 
there  were  a  number  of  little  white 
beds  under  the  windows.  She  was 
seven  years  old,  and  had  a  pretty 
name,  but  the  Sister  called  her  Ca- 
tiche.  She  called  her  Catiche  without 
thinking,  because  that  was  what  she 
called  all  the  little  girls  who  had  St. 
Vitus'  Dance. 

Catiche  let  them  give  her  her  bath 
and  put  her  to  bed  without  saying 
anything,  but  when  she  understood 
that  this  name  was  going  to  be 
hers,  she  became  furiously  angry. 
She  threw  off  her  blankets  and 
wanted  to  beat  the  Sister.  All  the 
little  patients  raised  their  heads  to 
90 


CATICHE 

look  at  her.  Several  of  them 
laughed  when  they  saw  the  gesticu- 
lations of  Catiche.  Every  time  she 
shook  her  fists  at  the  Sister,  they 
came  back  as  though  a  string  was 
pulling  them,  and  Catiche  struck  her 
own  forehead,  or  her  hands  went 
round  behind  and  hit  her  on  the  back 
or  the  back  of  her  neck. 

She  twisted  and  turned  like  a  little 
worm,  and  said  in  her  hoarse  voice: 
"You  shall  see."  A  nurse  ran  up  and 
dabbed  a  wet  cloth  on  her  face,  while 
the  Sister  held  her  down  on  the  bed. 
It  was  a  long  time  before  she  got 
quiet.  Gradually  her  face  got  its  pale 
colour  back  again,  but  her  breath 
came  with  difficulty. 

As  soon  as  the  nurse  had  gone 
away,  she  turned  over  on  her  stomach 
and  hid  her  face  in  the  pillow.  Her 
arms  went  on  lashing  about,  so  she 
was  not  asleep.  She  refused  to  eat. 
The  nurses  tried  to  force  her  to  drink 
a  little  milk.  They  pinched  her  nose 
to  make  her  open  her  mouth,  but  she 
opened  her  lips  only,  and  breathed 


CATICHE 

through  her  clenched  teeth.  Then 
the  doctor  came  and  tried  to  coax  her, 
but  she  would  not  even  take  her  face 
out  of  the  pillow. 

Next  morning  the  house  doctor 
explained  matters  to  the  visiting 
physician,  who  went  up  to  the  bed 
and  stroked  Catiche's  little  cropped 
head.  He  spoke  to  her  in  a  gentle 
voice;  touched  her  jerky  little  arms 
one  after  the  other,  and  said: 
"Come,  dear,  tell  me  what  they 
have  done  to  you  ?" 

She  turned  her  head  towards  him, 
and  in  a  cross  voice  said:  "Oh,  go 
away,  do,"  and  she  turned  her  face 
back  to  the  pillow  again. 

"Better  leave  her  alone,"  said 
the  physician. 

She  spent  the  whole  day  without 
eating  anything.  When  all  the  lights 
were  out,  and  there  was  only  the 
night  light,  which  made  a  kind  of 
moonlight  in  the  ward,  Catiche  began 
to  move  about  in  her  bed.  She 
uttered  little  moans  which  sounded 
as  though  they  came  from  a  whistle 
92 


CATICHE 

which  was  partly  stopped  up.  The 
girl  in  the  next  bed  leaned  towards 
her  and  asked  what  the  matter  was. 
Catiche  did  not  answer.  There  was 
no  sound  in  the  ward  but  the  snoring 
of  the  night  nurse  who  was  asleep 
in  the  armchair  at  the  other  end. 
The  little  patient  in  the  bed  next  to 
Catiche  got  up  without  any  noise. 
She  was  a  big  girl  of  twelve,  who  was 
dying  of  heart  disease.  She  had 
gentle  brown  eyes  and  her  name  was 
Yvonne.  Without  thinking  of  any 
harm  she  whispered  quite  low,  "Ca- 
tiche, dear,  what  is  the  matter?" 

Catiche  pushed  her  away  and 
opened  her  mouth  to  shriek,  but  no 
sounds  came,  she  had  lost  her  voice 
in  her  last  fit  of  rage. 

"I  am  sure  you  are  hungry," 
said  Yvonne. 

"Yes,  I  am  hungry,"  whispered 
Catiche. 

Yvonne  got  a  box  of  biscuits  and 
a  little  jug  of  milk  from  the  table  by 
her  bed,  and  filled  Catiche's  cup. 
The  first  biscuit  which  Catiche  tried 

93 


CATICHE 

to  put  into  her  mouth  went  up  in 
the  air.  The  second  one  went  over 
her  shoulder.  She  looked  so  funny 
with  her  mouth  open,  trying  to  snap 
at  the  biscuits  that  Yvonne  could 
not  help  laughing.  She  dipped  the 
biscuit  into  the  milk  herself  and  fed 
Catiche  like  a  little  bird.  She 
gobbled  up  all  the  biscuits  and 
nearly  half  the  milk.  Every  day 
afterwards  Yvonne  fed  her.  Catiche 
showed  no  gratitude;  as  soon  as  she 
had  eaten,  she  turned  her  head  away 
and  hid  herself  under  the  sheets; 
nobody  came  to  see  her.  She  did 
not  seem  envious  of  the  good  things 
which  the  other  little  patients  got 
from  their  friends.  Her  neighbour 
on  the  left  was  nine.  She  was  a 
little  fair  girl  who  suffered  from 
attacks  which  threw  her  down  on 
the  ground  with  one  leg  or  one  arm 
in  the  air.  Her  parents  used  to 
bring  her  all  kinds  of  good  things. 
They  often  offered  some  of  them  to 
Catiche,  but  she  looked  at  them 
sideways  and  refused  them. 
94 


CATICHE 

"She  is  not  easy  to  get  on  with," 
said  the  little  fair-haired  girl's  father. 

"It's  a  pity,"  said  her  mother,  "she's 
so  pretty  with  her  hair  cropped  like  a 
little  black  sleek  cat." 

"No,  mother,"  said  the  fair  child 
out  loud,  "she  is  not  pretty,  one  of  her 
eyes  is  quite  white." 

It  was  true.  Catiche  had  a  large 
film  on  her  right  eye. 

From  that  day  she  never  turned  her 
face  towards  the  little  fair  girl,  who 
took  advantage  of  this  to  tease  her; 
she  used  to  pull  at  her  sheets,  throw 
little  bits  of  bread  at  her,  and  call  her 
old  pussy-cat.  Catiche  never  said 
anything,  but  her  arms  jerked  more 
violently  than  ever. 

One  morning  when  Catiche  was 
sitting  on  her  bed,  the  little  fair  girl 
came  up  and  made  a  face  at  her. 
Catiche  pushed  her  so  hard  that  she 
knocked  her  against  the  foot  of  the 
bed.  The  Sister  had  seen  her  do  it. 
She  ran  up  and  told  Catiche  that  she 
was  a  naughty,  sly,  little  girl.  Ca- 
tiche waved  her  arms  about  and  tried 

95 


CATICHE 

to  scream.  She  tried  to  scream  so 
hard  that  in  her  rage  she  found  her 
voice  again  and  yelled,  "She  called  me 
Goat-eye."  All  the  little  girls  began 
to  laugh.  Yvonne  was  the  only  one 
who  didn't.  She  did  all  she  could  to 
keep  Catiche's  arms  from  banging 
against  the  iron  posts  of  the  bed,  and 
sat  down  by  her  side  to  console  her. 
She  put  a  sweet  into  her  mouth 
whispering:  "Eat  that,  you  great 
stupid,"  and  then  she  sat  by  Catiche's 
bedside  doing  crochet  work.  After 
that  she  used  to  come  and  sit  by  Ca- 
tiche  every  day,  but  Catiche  always 
made  a  fuss  about  taking  the  good 
things  she  had  brought  her. 

"Lend  me  your  crochet  hook," 
said  Catiche  one  day.  "No,"  said 
Yvonne,  "you  might  hurt  yourself." 
Catiche  stretched  out  her  arms, 
which  were  almost  still.  "You  see," 
she  said,  "I  am  cured  now,  I  can  eat 
alone;  give  me  the  hook,  I  want  to 
jab  it  into  that  girl's  eye,  then  they 
will  call  her  'goat-eye'  too.  Mother 
told  me  that  my  eye  was  white 


CATICHE 

because  I  jabbed  it  with  a  crochet 
hook/' 

"Oh,"  said  Yvonne,  "how  can  you 
be  so  naughty." 

"She's  naughty  to  call  me  that  and 
to  make  a  face  at  me.  I  never  did 
anything  to  her." 

"True,"  said  Yvonne,  "but  as  you 
know  that  she  is  naughty,  why  do  you 
want  to  imitate  her?" 

"What  would  you  have  done  if  it 
were  you?"  said  Catiche. 

"I  would  have  boxed  her  ears  and 
not  thought  anything  more  about  it." 
After  a  moment's  silence  Yvonne 
added,  "You  knocked  her  down  and 
her  nose  bled,  that  hurt  her  more  than 
a  box  on  the  ears." 

Next  day  Yvonne  was  too  weak  to 
get  up,  and  sat  up  in  her  bed  to  do 
her  crochet  work.  The  nurse  saw 
her  slip  down  among  the  pillows  and 
ran  to  her.  She  took  the  little 
work  box  and  put  it  on  Catiche's 
bed.  Then  she  laid  Yvonne  down 
without  saying  a  word,  covered  her 
face  with  the  sheet  and  went  away. 

97 


CATICHE 

Several  people  came  and  went  and 
Catiche  saw  that  Yvonne  was  not 
in  her  bed  any  longer.  She  plucked 
up  her  courage  and  asked  the  nurse 
if  she  was  soon  coming  back  again. 

"She  will  never  come  back  any 
more,"  said  the  nurse.  "She  is  quite 
cured." 

Then  Catiche  put  the  crochet  work 
carefully  into  the  box,  and  after  hav- 
ing looked  at  the  fine  point  of  the 
crochet  hook  for  a  moment  she  put 
it  into  its  little  case  and  gave  the  work 
box  to  the  Sister. 


98 


THE  FIANCEE 

AFTER  a  few  days'  holiday,  I 
had  to  go  back  to  Paris. 
When  I  got  to  the  station 
the  train  was  crowded.  I  peeped 
into  every  carriage  hoping  to  find  a 
place.  There  was  one  in  the  car- 
riage opposite  me,  but  there  were 
two  big  baskets  on  the  seat,  out  of 
which  ducks  and  fowls  were  peeping. 
After  a  good  long  minute's  hesitation 
I  decided  to  get  into  that  carriage. 
I  apologized  for  disturbing  the  pas- 
sengers, but  a  man  in  a  blouse  said: 
"Wait  just  one  moment,  mademoi- 
selle. I'll  take  the  baskets  down." 
And  while  I  held  the  basket  of  fruit 
which  he  had  on  his  knees,  he  slipped 
the  baskets  with  the  ducks  and  hens 
under  the  seat.  The  ducks  did  not 
like  it  and  told  us  so.  The  hens 

99 


THE  FIANCEE 


dropped  their  heads  as  though  they 
had  been  insulted,  and  the  peasant's 
wife  talked  to  them,  calling  them  by 
their  names. 

When  I  was  seated,  and  the  ducks 
were  quiet,  the  passenger  opposite 
to  me  asked  the  peasant  whether 
he  was  taking  these  birds  to 
market. 

"No,  sir,"  said  the  man.  "I  am 
taking  them  to  my  son,  who  is  going 
to  be  married  the  day  after  to- 
morrow." 

His  face  was  beaming,  and  he 
looked  around  him  as  though  he 
wanted  to  show  everybody  how 
happy  he  was.  The  old  woman  who 
was  hunched  up  in  the  corner  among 
three  pillows,  and  who  filled  up 
twice  as  much  room  as  she  ought 
to  have,  began  grumbling  about 
peasants  who  took  up  such  a  lot  of 
room  in  the  train.  The  young  man 
sitting  next  to  her  had  nowhere  to  put 
his  elbows. 

The  train  started  and  the  passenger 
who  had  spoken  was  opening  his 
100 


THE  FIANCEE 


newspaper,  when  the  peasant  said  to 
him: 

"My  boy  is  in  Paris.  He  is  work- 
ing in  a  shop,  and  he  is  going  to 
marry  a  young  lady  who  is  in  a  shop 
too."' 

The  passenger  let  his  open  paper 
drop  on  to  his  knees.  He  held  it  with 
one  hand  and  leaning  a  little  forward, 
he  asked : 

"Is  the  fiancee  pretty?" 

"We  do  not  know,"  said  the  man, 
"we  haven't  seen  her  yet." 

"Really,"  said  the  passenger. 
"What  if  she  were  ugly,  or  you  found 
you  did  not  like  her  ?" 

"That  is  one  of  the  things  that  can 
always  happen,"  answered  the  coun- 
tryman. "But  I  think  we  shall  like 
her,  because  our  boy  is  too  fond  of  us 
to  take  an  ugly  wife/' 

"Besides,"  said  the  little  woman 
beside  me,  "If  she  pleases  our  Philip 
she  will  please  us  too." 

She  turned  to  me,  and  her  gentle 
eyes  were  full  of  smiles.  She  had  a 
little,  round,  fresh  face,  and  I  could 

101 


THE  FIANCEE 


not  believe  that  she  was  the  mother 
of  a  son  who  was  old  enough  to  get 
married.  She  wanted  to  know 
whether  I  was  going  to  Paris  too, 
and  when  I  said  yes,  the  passenger 
opposite  who  had  spoken  first,  began 
to  joke. 

"I  should  like  to  bet,"  he  said,  "that 
this  young  lady  is  the  fiancee.  She 
has  come  to  meet  her  father  and 
mother-in-law,  without  telling  them 
who  she  is." 

Everybody  looked  at  me  and  I  got 
very  red.  The  countryman  and  his 
wife  said  both  together : 

"We  should  be  very  pleased  if  it 
were  true." 

I  told  them  that  it  was  not  true,  but 
the  passenger  reminded  them  that  I 
had  walked  up  and  down  the  platform 
twice  as  though  I  were  looking  for 
somebody,  and  that  I  had  been  a  long 
time  before  I  made  up  my  mind  to  get 
into  that  carriage. 

All  the  passengers  laughed,  and  I 
explained  as  well  as  I  could,  that  this 
was  the  only  place  I  had  found. 
1 02 


THE  FIANCEE 


"Never  mind,"  said  the  country- 
woman. "I  like  you,  and  I  shall  be 
very  happy  if  our  daughter-in-law  is 
like  you." 

"Yes,"  said  her  husband.  "I  hope 
she  will  look  like  you." 

The  passenger  kept  up  his  joke, 
looked  at  me  maliciously  and  said: 

"You  will  see  that  I  am  not  wrong 
when  you  get  to  Paris.  Your  son 
will  say  to  you,  'Here  is  my 
fiancee/ ' 

A  little  while  afterwards  the 
countrywoman  turned  right  around 
towards  me,  fumbled  in  her  basket 
and  pulled  a  cake  out,  saying  that 
she  had  made  it  herself  that  morning. 
I  didn't  know  how  to  refuse  her,  but 
I  said  I  had  a  bad  cold  and  a  touch 
of  fever,  and  the  cake  went  back 
into  the  basket  again.  Then  she 
offered  me  a  bunch  of  grapes,  which 
I  was  obliged  to  accept.  I  had  the 
greatest  difficulty  in  preventing  her 
husband  from  going  to  get  me  some- 
thing hot  to  drink  when  the  train 
stopped. 

103 


THE  FIANCf E 


When  I  looked  at  these  good  peo- 
ple, who  were  so  anxious  to  love  the 
wife  their  son  had  chosen,  I  felt  quite 
sorry  that  I  was  not  to  be  their  daugh- 
ter-in-law. I  knew  how  sweet  their 
affection  would  have  been  to  me.  I 
had  never  known  my  parents,  and  I 
had  always  lived  among  strangers. 
Every  now  and  again  I  caught  them 
staring  at  me. 

When  we  got  to  Paris  I  helped 
them  lift  their  baskets  down,  and 
showed  them  the  way  out  of  the 
station.  I  moved  a  little  away  from 
them  when  I  saw  a  tall  young  man 
rush  at  them  and  hug  them.  He 
kissed  them  over  and  over  again, 
one  after  the  other.  They  smiled 
and  looked  very  happy.  They  did 
not  hear  the  porters  shouting  as 
they  bumped  into  them  with  the 
luggage. 

I  followed  them  to  the  gate.  The 
son  had  passed  his  arm  through  the 
handle  of  the  basket  with  the  ducks, 
and  threw  his  other  arm  round  his 
mother's  waist.  Like  his  father, 
104 


THE  FIANCEE 


he  had  happy;  eyes  and  a  broad 
smile. 

Outside  it  was  nearly  dark.  I 
turned  up  the  collar  of  my  cloak 
and  I  remained  a  few  steps  behind 
the  happy  old  couple,  while  their 
son  went  to  look  for  a  cab.  The 
countryman  stroked  the  head  of  a  big 
hen  with  spots  of  all  colours,  and  said 
to  his  wife: 

"If  we  had  known  that  she  was  not 
our  daughter-in-law,  we  might  have 
given  her  the  spotted  one." 

His  wife  stroked  the  spotted  hen 
too  and  said: 

"Yes,  if  we  had  known." 

She  moved  towards  the  crowd  of 
people  who  were  coming  out  of  the 
station,  and  looking  into  the  distance 
she  said: 

"She  is  going  off  with  all  these  peo- 
ple." 

The  son  came  back  with  the  cab. 
He  put  his  father  and  mother  into  it 
and  got  up  on  to  the  box  by  the 
driver.  He  sat  sideways  so  as  not 
to  lose  sight  of  them.  He  looked 

105 


strong  and  gentle,  and  I  thought  that 
his  fiancee  was  a  happy  girl. 

When  the  cab  had  disappeared,  I 
went  slowly  out  into  the  streets.  I 
could  not  make  my  mind  up  to  go 
back  to  my  lonely  little  room.  I  was 
twenty  years  old  and  nobody  had  ever 
spoken  of  love  to  me. 


106 


A  FRAGMENT  OF  A 
LETTER 

I  MEANT  to  go  out  and  join  you 
in  India,  but  I  was  afraid  for 
my  two  little  girls  and  even 
more  so  for  my  little  boy,  whose 
health  is  very  delicate.  But  I  want 
to  leave  this  country  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible. The  idea  of  remaining  in  it 
is  unbearable  to  me.  Even  my  house 
has  become  hateful.  I  have  made  up 
my  mind  to  go  back  to  the  country 
where  we  were  born.  There,  I  shall 
find  old  friends,  who  have  become 
young  mothers  like  myself,  and  with 
them  I  shall  not  feel  quite  so  lonely. 

I  know  that  many  young  widows' 
prefer  to  remain  in  their  homes,  but 
my  misfortune  is  no  ordinary  one,  and 
when  I  have  told  you  all,  you  will 
agree  that  I  am  right. 

107 


A  FRAGMENT  OF  LETTER 

I  have  never  told  anybody  about 
these  things  before.  People  would 
not  have  believed  me  if  I  had  told 
them,  and  would  have  made  fun  of 
me.  You  are  my  sister  and  you 
love  me.  And  even  so  I  am  sure 
that  you  will  think  that  I  am 
mad. 

Although  you  knew  my  husband 
very  little,  you  must  remember  his 
eyes  which  were  very  deep  set  and 
changed  in  tint  so  often  that  one 
could  never  say  what  colour  they 
were.  Even  some  months  after  my 
marriage  I  had  not  become  used  to 
them  and  I  used  to  drop  my  own 
eyes  every  time  he  looked  at  me  at 
all  fixedly.  But  he  was  gentle  and 
affectionate  and  I  loved  him.  When 
I  told  him  of  the  coming  of  my  first 
child,  he  took  every  care  of  me. 
Often  I  caught  him  looking  at  me 
anxiously.  I  only  understood  what 
his  anxiety  meant  when  he  said  to 
me  one  day:  "Let  us  hope  it  will 
be  a  boy."  It  was  little  Lise,  you 
remember,  and  nothing  could  ever 
108 


A  FRAGMENT  OF  LETTER 

describe  the  contempt  with  which  he 
glanced  at  the  cradle. 

Dear  little  Lise  was  very  nearly  a 
year  old  when  I  had  my  second 
daughter.  My  husband  shrugged  his 
shoulders,  looked  at  the  baby  girl, 
and  said  in  a  disappointed  tone: 
"I  must  make  up  my  mind  to  it,  I  sup- 
pose. I  see  that  we  shall  have  noth- 
ing but  daughters." 

But  there  came  a  change  when  my 
little  Raymond  was  born.  I  was  so 
happy  that  I  sent  a  servant  to  fetch 
my  husband  and  tell  him  the  good 
news.  He  would  not  believe  it  at 
first.  He  said:  "You  must  be 
wrong.  I  am  sure  it  is  a  girl  again." 

He  came  slowly  into  my  room,  and 
without  even  looking  at  me,  he  went 
straight  to  the  cradle.  He  handled 
the  baby  gingerly  as  though  it  were 
something  precious.  He  held  it  close 
to  his  face  and  then  at  a  little  dis- 
tance. He  laughed,  and  I  could  see 
that  he  wanted  to  cry.  Then  he 
turned  to  me  and  said:  "I  am  very, 
yery  happy."  I  think  he  loved  his 

109 


A  FRAGMENT  OF  LETTER 

little  girls  too,  but  they  did  not 
interest  him.  He  seemed  to  think 
that  his  son  belonged  to  him  entirely, 
to  him  alone.  He  had  wanted  him 
so  badly.  To  friends  he  used  to  say 
loudly:  "Yes,  that  is  my  son." 
But  when  he  was  alone  by  the  cradle 
he  would  say:  "He  is  my  own  little 
boy." 

As  soon  as  the  child  was  weaned, 
he  began  to  look  after  him  himself. 
He  bathed  him  and  dressed  him 
quite  skilfully.  He  even  cooked  his 
little  meals  for  him,  and  he  was  never 
tired  of  taking  him  out.  The  child 
loved  nobody  but  his  father,  and  I 
hardly  dared  caress  him,  I  was  so 
frightened  of  annoying  my  husband. 
He  often  used  to  say  to  me:  "Kiss 
your  girls  and  leave  my  son  to 


me." 


At  night  he  would  get  up  to  go 
and  watch  the  child  sleeping.  One 
day  when  I  had  called  the  doctor 
in  for  some  trifling  trouble  which  Lise 
had,  he  was  so  struck  by  the  extreme 
thinness  of  my  husband,  that  he 
no 


A  FRAGMENT  OF  LETTER 

insisted  on  examining  him.  When 
he  put  his  ear  to  his  chest,  I  saw  the 
doctor's  eyes  grow  large  with  sur- 
prise and  anxiety.  He  listened  for 
a  long  time,  and  when  he  had  finished, 
wrote  out  a  long  prescription.  I  went 
down  to  the  door  with  him  and  he 
whispered:  "His  lungs  are  affected. 
See  that  he  takes  his  medicine  for  the 
disease  is  far  advanced."  I  could  not 
quite  understand  what  the  disease 
might  be. 

It  was  only  a  week  afterwards 
that  the  doctor,  finding  me  alone, 
gave  me  all  the  details.  I  remem- 
bered that  my  husband  had  begun 
to  cough  after  a  storm  in  which  he 
had  been  caught  out  in  the  country. 
He  had  taken  his  coat  off  to  cover 
the  boy,  and  had  remained  in  his 
wet  clothes  for  a  long  time.  The 
cough  got  worse  and  worse.  Gradu- 
ally the  disease  took  a  terrible  hold 
of  him.  Soon  my  husband  had  to 
give  up  his  walks  with  his  son.  He 
insisted  on  being  left  alone  with  him 
in  the  garden,  and  used  to  spend  his 

in 


A  FRAGMENT  OF  LETTER 

days  sitting  in  an  armchair,  while  the 
child  played  by  his  side. 

When  winter  came  it  brought  real 
torture  with  it.  My  husband  had  to 
remain  in  bed.  He  wanted  his  son 
to  be  in  the  room  with  him  all  day, 
but  the  doctor  forbade  this  severely. 
All  my  time  was  taken  up  in  imagin- 
ing reasons  for  getting  the  boy  out 
of  the  room.  It  was  horrible.  The 
father  used  threats  and  entreaties  to 
have  his  son  in  the  sick  room  with 
him,  and  there  was  no  consoling  the 
child,  who  cried  and  wailed  for  his 
father. 

Towards  the  beginning  of  March 
the  doctor  warned  me  that  my  hus- 
band would  not  live  until  summer. 
He  lived  two  months  longer,  suffer- 
ing from  fever  and  from  delirium. 
He  shouted  constantly  for  his  son, 
and  though  the  child  was  so  far  away 
that  he  could  not  possibly  hear  his 
father  calling,  he  seemed  to  hear 
him  and  used  to  get  away  from 
everybody  and  make  for  his  father's 
room. 
112 


A  FRAGMENT  OF  LETTER 

One  morning  my  husband  made  a 
sign  to  me  to  come  close  to  his  bed. 
He  gazed  nervously  at  the  door, 
made  signs  to  me  to  bend  over  him 
and  whispered  in  my  ear:  "There 
are  black  men  behind  the  door. 
They  have  come  to  fetch  my  boy. 
Give  them  some  money  and  make 
them  go."  Hardly  knowing  what  I 
said,  I  asked:  "Black  men?" 

"Yes,"  he  said.  "Yes.  Don't  you 
see  them?  They  are  spitting  on  my 
bed." 

I  raised  my  voice  as  though  to  or- 
der beggars  away,  and  until  his  last 
day  he  was  always  calling  out  that 
black  men  were  round  his  bed  spit- 
ting on  it.  To  keep  him  quiet  I  had 
to  throw  handfuls  of  halfpence  at  the 
door.  A  moment  before  he  died,  he 
raised  himself  in  bed  crying:  "I 
want  my  son."  He  held  his  arms  up 
as  though  he  had  the  child  in  them, 
and  when  all  was  over  there  was  a 
smile  upon  his  face. 

When  I  came  back  from  the  ceme- 
tery, I  had  to  answer  my  children, 


A  FRAGMENT  OF  LETTER 

who  wanted  to  know  where  their 
father  was.  I  tried  to  explain  to 
them  that  he  had  gone  on  a  journey, 
but  little  Raymond  answered:  "No, 
he  has  gone  to  die  and  be  buried  in 
the  cemetery."  He  said  that  in  his 
baby  language,  lifted  his  solemn  little 
face  to  mine  and  began  to  cry,  and  to 
call  for  his  father.  I  took  him  on  my 
knees  and  kissed  him  and  consoled 
him.  He  cried  a  long  time  and  fell 
asleep  at  last.  His  little  hand  kept 
moving  about  as  though  it  were  feel- 
ing for  another  hand. 

It  was  growing  dark.  I  was  very 
tired.  I  struggled  against  the  long- 
ing for  sleep  which  was  growing  on 
me  and  a  slight  noise  made  me  look 
at  the  window.  A  tall  shadow 
slipped  across  the  wall  towards  me. 
When  it  was  opposite  me,  I  recog- 
nized my  husband.  He  pointed  a  fin- 
ger at  the  child  and  said  to  me: 
"Kiss  him  and  love  him,  for  you  will 
not  have  him  yery  long.  .  .  ." 


114 


THE   FOALS 

IT  was  the  end  of  the  summer,  and 
the  last  day  of  Raymond's  holi- 
days. His  mother  and  he  were 
to  go  back  to  town  that  afternoon 
from  the  little  island  where  they  had 
been  spending  two  months'  holiday. 
While  his  mother  was  finishing  her 
packing,  Raymond  went  out  for  a 
last  run  in  the  meadows.  As  soon 
as  he  had  been  on  the  island  a  few 
days  he  had  grown  to  love  animals. 
They  did  not  herd  them  as  they 
did  in  other  parts.  Here  and  there 
one  saw  a  cow  or  a  sheep  grazing 
near  the  rocks.  Raymond  used  to 
think  that  they  looked  like  ship- 
wrecked sailors  waiting  for  help. 
When  they  heard  any  one  coming, 
they  would  raise  their  heads  and  call. 
They  watched  people  come  and  go  un- 


THE  FOALS 


til  they  could  no  longer  see  them,  and 
as  they  went  away  they  stopped  call- 
ing, as  if  they  knew  that  the  time  for 
rescue  was  not  yet. 

Raymond's  favourites  were  the 
foals  which  frolicked  about  the 
island.  The  one  he  liked  best  was  a 
little  filly,  whose  coat  had  rosy  tints 
in  it.  He  had  been  watching  it  a 
long  time  the  day  before.  The  sun 
was  setting,  and  the  filly  galloped 
about  the  meadow  doing  all  kinds  of 
pretty  tricks.  She  dropped  her  head 
and  raised  it  as  though  she  were 
bowing  to  the  great  red  sun,  which 
was  sinking  to  rest  in  the  water. 
Then  she  reared  on  her  hind  legs 
as  if  she  were  trying  to  stand  up 
straight,  and  then  threw  out  her 
hind  legs  behind  her.  When  she  had 
done  that,  she  trotted  round  and 
round  daintily  in  circles,  and  nodded 
to  her  mother,  who  stood  watching 
her. 

But  that  morning,  although  Ray- 
mond went  all  around  the  meadow 
along  by  the  rocks,  he  could  only 
116 


THE  FOALS 


find  cows  and  sheep  and  could  not 
see  the  foals  anywhere.  He  did  not 
know  why,  and  he  was  worried  about 
it  when  he  went  back  to  his  mother, 
who  was  waiting  for  him  for  every- 
thing was  packed  now,  and  they  had 
to  go. 

When  they  got  down  to  the  har- 
bour, Raymond  saw  that  there  were 
many  people  there  as  there  usually 
were  on  Sundays  only,  but  he  noticed 
that  people  were  not  walking  about 
quietly  on  the  jetty  and  the  quays, 
as  they  did  then.  Every  one  looked 
anxious  and  busy.  Men  were  gath- 
ered in  groups,  and  chatted  in  loud 
voices  about  money. 

While  his  mother  was  having  the 
luggage  carried  down  to  the  boat, 
Raymond  drew  near  the  groups  of 
men,  and,  listening  to  their  talk, 
he  found  out  that  it  was  fair  day,  and 
that  there  was  a  sale  of  foals.  He 
could  not  see  where  the  fair  was  be- 
ing held,  but  every  now  and  then  a 
woman  would  come  along  leading 
a  mare  by  the  bridle,  and  her  foal 

117 


THE  FOALS 


followed  after.  Sometimes  several 
men  followed  them.  They  were  all 
dressed  much  the  same,  but  Ray- 
mond always  knew  the  dealer  by 
the  way  in  which  he  watched  the 
foal. 

The  woman  led  the  mare  to  the 
quay-side  near  the  boat,  and  as  the 
foal  drew  nervously  close  to  his 
mother,  two  men  slipped  a  great 
strap  under  him  to  which  was  fas- 
tened a  wooden  bar  which  kept  his 
legs  in  place.  Then  a  pulley  grated 
on  the  boat,  two  wheels  turned  and 
a  huge  cable  with  a  big  hook  came 
down  to  the  colt  and  picked  him  up 
like  a  bundle.  They  were  all  dread- 
fully frightened  when  they  felt  them- 
selves being  lifted  off  the  ground. 
Their  eyelids  almost  flapped,  and 
they  tried  to  stretch  their  fore-feet 
out  in  front  of  them,  as  though  they 
were  looking  for  foot-hold.  When 
they  found  none,  they  let  themselves 
go  and  their  bodies  hung  loosely  at 
the  cable  end.  A  moment  after- 
wards they  disappeared  down  a  large 
118 


THE  FOALS 


hole  in  the  boat,  out  of  the  depths  of 
which  Raymond  heard  neighing  and 
kicking.  After  that  the  woman  and 
the  mare  went  away  slowly,  while  the 
dealer  climbed  on  board  the  boat, 
leaned  over  the  hole  and  shouted  or- 
ders down. 

Raymond  had  believed  that  all  the 
colts  grew  up  with  their  mothers, 
until  they  were  big  enough  and 
strong  enough  to  draw  carts  them- 
selves. He  was  surprised  to  find 
them  rushed  on  board  this  boat  like 
children  who  are  taken  to  school  for 
the  first  time.  It  reminded  him  of 
the  day  when  his  mother  first  took 
him  to  school.  It  had  been  the  year 
before,  and  he  still  remembered  the 
feeling  of  fright  which  had  taken 
hold  of  him  when  he  found  himself 
in  front  of  the  big  door  of  the  build- 
ing. His  first  idea  had  been  to  run 
away,  and  his  mother  had  been 
obliged  to  hold  his  hand  tightly  to 
keep  him  back.  In  a  low  voice  she 
had  made  him  feel  ashamed  of  him- 
self, and  had  told  him  to  look  at  the 

119 


THE  FOALS 


other  boys,  who  were  walking  quietly 
by  their  mothers'  sides,  just  like  the 
big  colts  who  came  quietly  down  to 
the  boat.  And  he  had  not  for- 
gotten the  little  boy  who  had  thrown 
himself  down  in  the  road  outside  the 
school  door,  and  who  had  kicked  and 
struck  the  gentleman  who  tried  to 
pick  him  up.  The  little  boy  cried 
and  shouted  to  his  mother.  He 
cried  and  shouted  so  that  he  became 
quite  hoarse.  A  crowd  gathered 
round  him.  The  people  said:  "He 
will  have  to  go  in.  They  are  stronger 
than  he  is."  And  next  day  Ray- 
mond had  seen  him  in  the  play- 
ground. 

Raymond  thought  all  these  things 
over  and  felt  very  sorry  for  the  colts 
which  the  boat  was  taking  to  places 
which  they  did  not  know.  All  of  a 
sudden,  he  saw  the  women  moving 
aside  to  let  a  big  white  mare  pass. 
The  mare  walked  heavily  and  tried 
to  stop  every  moment.  The  woman 
who  was  leading  her,  stopped  when 
she  did  and  then  moved  on  again 
120 


THE  FOALS 


saying:  "Come  on,  do.  Come  on/' 
Raymond  recognized  the  mother  of 
his  favourite  filly.  The  filly  looked 
very  frightened.  She  ran  round  and 
round  her  mother,  uttered  a  little 
neigh  which  sounded  like  the  cry 
of  a  tiny  child.  The  dealer  ran 
round  after  her  and  tried  to  put  a 
pink  and  white  halter  over  her  head, 
but  the  filly  got  out  of  his  way  by 
backing  and  jumping  to  one  side. 
The  dealer  began  to  swear.  He 
wanted  the  woman  to  help  him,  but 
she  remained  straight  and  stiff  at 
her  mare's  head  and  said:  "She 
belongs  to  you  now,  catch  her  as 
best  you  can.  I  told  you  that  she  had 
never  known  a  halter." 

The  woman  pitied  the  little  crea- 
ture and  watched  the  dealer  who 
crept  towards  her  on  tip-toe,  with 
the  halter  in  his  two  hands.  He 
went  this  way  and  that  and  turned 
round  and  round  to  catch  the  filly, 
but  she  always  got  out  of  his  way. 
He  was  a  heavy,  thick-set  man,  and 
awkward,  and  Raymond  thought  to 

121 


THE  FOALS 


himself  that  he  looked  like  a  bear  try- 
ing to  catch  a  bird.  Once  or  twice 
he  got  so  near  the  filly  that  the  lit- 
tle creature  crept  up  to  her  mother's 
side  for  safety.  She  tried  to  hide  un- 
der her  belly  and  then  tried  to  get 
on  her  back,  but  as. she  could  not,  she 
crept  close  up  to  her  side  and  put  her 
little  head  under  her  neck  to  be 
stroked.  That  was  how  the  dealer 
caught  her. 

When  the  foal  felt  the  cord,  she 
jumped  into  the  air  with  all  four 
feet  and  threw  herself  about,  this 
way  and  that.  Raymond  heard 
people  saying,  as  he  had  heard  them 
saying  outside  the  school:  "She 
will  have  to  give  in.  They  are 
stronger  than  she  is."  The  filly  had 
backed  up  to  a  heap  of  luggage,  was 
pulling  at  the  cord  and  shaking  her 
head  with  all  her  strength  to  get  rid 
of  it.  Then  the  dealer  twisted  the 
halter  end  round  his  arm  to  make  it 
shorter  and  drew  nearer.  He  pulled 
a  little  whip  from  under  his  blouse 
and  struck  the  foal  a  sharp  blow 
122 


THE  FOALS 


with    it,   saying  between   set   teeth: 
"Get  on,  you  little  ass." 

As  the  other  women  with  the  other 
foals  had  done,  the  woman  had 
brought  the  mare  up  close  alongside 
the  boat.  The  filly  trembled  all 
over.  She  tried  to  neigh  for  help, 
but  the  stroke  of  the  whip  must  have 
broken  her  voice,  and  she  could  not 
utter  a  sound.  Her  mother  stretched 
her  neck  towards  her.  Her  nostrils 
quivered  as  they  touched  the  filly's 
nostrils.  Her  lips  trembled  and 
rested  for  a  long  moment  on  the 
filly's  lips,  and  Raymond  saw  that 
she  was  giving  her  daughter  her  last 
kiss.  Then  she  raised  her  head  and 
looked  across  the  boat  out  at  the 
sea.  The  woman  watched  the  sea 
too  while  the  chain  creaked  and 
the  filly  swung  at  the  end  of  the 
cable.  When  she  had  disappeared 
in  the  hold,  the  woman  turned  the 
mare's  head  landwards,  and  the  two 
went  away  slowly.  The  woman 
walked  with  her  legs  wide  apart,  and 
her  petticoat  from  behind  reminded 

123 


THE  FOALS 


Raymond    of    the    way    the    mare 
walked. 

The  dealer  settled  his  cap  firmly  on 
his  head,  pulled  his  blouse  down 
again,  and  went  over  to  the  other 
dealers  who  were  making  a  loud  noise 
on  the  boat. 


124 


THE  GHOST 

EVERYTHING  was  quite  still 
in   the   house   now,    and   the 
noises    of    the    street    could 
hardly  be  heard.     From  time  to  time 
a  cab  passed  in  the  distance.     The 
horse's  shoes  clattered  on  the  stones 
as  though  they  were  only  held  on  by 
a  thread,  and  the  tinkle  of  his  bell 
sounded  through  the  night  like  a  dole- 
ful warning. 

Marie  had  stopped  crying,  and 
Angelique  was  bending  over  the 
table  with  her  head  almost  under 
the  shade  of  the  lamp.  A  piece  of 
furniture  creaked  loudly.  Ange- 
lique raised  her  head  quickly  and 
Marie  put  her  hands  into  the  light  on 
the  table  as  though  she  were  afraid 
that  some  one  would  touch  them  in 
the  shadows.  Then  the  two  girls 

125 


glanced  at  the  glass  door  at  the  other 
end  of  the  room,  and  Angelique 
pushed  the  lamp  shade  up  a  little,  so 
that  the  light  should  spread  over  the 
room  better.  The  silence  grew  more 
obtrusive  than  ever,  till  presently 
the  clock  struck.  Marie  leaned  to- 
wards the  chimney-piece  trying  to 
see  the  clock  and  said  in  a  low  voice : 
"How  quickly  the  strokes  came." 

Angelique  looked  away  from  her 
sister's  eyes  as  she  answered:  "Do 
you  think  so?" 

"Yes,"  said  Marie,  in  a  low  voice. 
"It  seemed  to  say  what  o'clock  it  was 
as  quickly  as  it  could,  so  as  to  shut 
itself  up  again,  like  a  person  who  is 
afraid." 

Angelique  smiled  at  her  sister  and 
said,  in  a  voice  which  was  fairly  calm : 
"It  is  twelve  o'clock,  and  we  ought  to 
go  to  bed." 

"No,"  said  Marie.  "I  cannot 
sleep.  Won't  you  read  me  some- 
thing?" And  she  reached  out  and 
took  down  a  book  from  the  little  shelf 
on  the  wall  just  behind  her. 
126 


THE  GHOST 


"We  know  it  by  heart,"  said  her 
sister,  pushing  the  book  away.  She 
glanced  at  the  glass  door  again. 
"Now  that  Uncle  is  dead,  we  can 
take  the  books  from  his  room.  He 
never  told  us  we  were  not  to  read 
them." 

"I  know/'  said  Marie,  "but  I  should 
never  dare  to  go  into  his  room  now." 
She  dropped  her  voice,  and  drawing 
closer  to  her  sister  said:  "When  we 
came  back  from  the  cemetery  just 
now,  it  seemed  to  me  that  he  came 
into  the  house  with  us." 

Angelique  pushed  the  shade  of  the 
lamp  up  to  the  top  of  the  glass 
chimney,  and  in  the  silence  which 
followed  the  two  sisters  heard  a 
noise. 

"What 'was  that?"  said  Ange- 
lique, not  daring  to  look  at  her 
sister. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Marie.  "It 
sounded  as  though  some  one  had 
dropped  on  to  the  floor  of  this 
room." 

"It  seemed  to  come  from  over 

127 


THE  GHOST 


there,"  said  Angelique,  pointing  to 
the  window. 

They  listened  in  silence  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  Marie,  trying  to  control 
her  voice  said:  "It  must  have  been 
my  work  falling  out  of  the  basket." 
As  her  sister  did  not  answer,  she  said : 
"Let  us  go  and  look." 

Angelique  picked  up  the  lamp  and 
held  it  as  high  as  she  could,  and 
Marie  took  her  sister's  arm.  The 
big  roll  of  tapestry  work  was  safely 
in  the  basket.  They  went  into  the 
drawing-room  and  into  their  bedroom 
and  looked  all  round,  but  nothing  had 
been  disturbed.  They  went  back  to 
the  dining-room. 

"The  noise  was  certainly  in  here," 
whispered  Angelique. 

"Then  it  must  have  been  in  the 
cupboard,"  said  Marie. 

"Which  cupboard?"  asked  her  sis- 
ter. 

"Uncle's,"  Marie  whispered,  in  a 
still  lower  voice.  They  ran  to  the 
cupboard,  and  Marie  pulled  the  door 
open  sharply,  after  having  pushed 
128 


THE  GHOST 


across  a  large  bundle  of  linen  which 
the  washerwoman  had  brought  back 
that  morning,  nearer  to  the  window. 
The  cupboard  was  in  perfect  order. 
On  the  top  shelf  in  front  were  two 
white  shirts,  one  on  top  of  the  other. 
Their  starched  cuffs  looked  as  though 
the  shirts  had  made  a  pillow  of  them. 
All  along  the  shelf  on  either  side 
were  little  bundles  of  neatly  folded 
handkerchiefs  and  carefully  rolled 
socks.  Under  the  shelf  coats  and 
trousers  hung  from  hooks.  Marie 
slipped  them  along  the  bar  and 
peered  on  to  the  floor  of  the  cup- 
board. She  saw  nothing  there  but 
tidy  rows  of  boots  and  shoes  in  per- 
fect order.  She  shut  the  cupboard 
door,  and  at  that  moment  the  light 
of  the  lamp  lit  up  the  glass  door  at 
the  other  side  of  the  room.  The 
two  sisters  saw  their  uncle  with  his 
hat  on  his  head,  looking  at  them 
through  the  glass.  Marie  dropped 
her  sister's  arm  and  stepped  back, 
but  Angelique  opened  the  glass  door 
suddenly  and  held  the  lamp  out 

129 


THE  GHOST 


towards  the  ghost.  Then  the  two 
girls  almost  laughed.  They  saw  that 
it  was  only  the  model  on  which 
Marie  made  her  dresses.  Their 
uncle's  hat  and  overcoat  had  been 
put  on  it  by  mistake.  Marie  went 
up  to  it  without  a  word,  took  the  hat 
and  coat  off  the  model  and  put  them 
on  her  uncle's  bed.  The  mattress 
was  uncovered  and  the  blankets 
were  folded  on  the  bed  foot.  She 
and  her  sister  saw  that  everything 
was  in  good  order  in  the  room  and 
that  there  was  nothing  on  the  ground. 
They  both  noticed  that  the  window 
was  wide  open  behind  the  closed  shut- 
ters, and  that  the  air  of  the  room  was 
cold  and  smelt  of  box-wood.  They 
left  the  room,  closing  the  door  behind 
them. 

Angelique  put  down  the  lamp. 
Her  hand  shook.  And  Marie  sat 
down  heavily  as  though  her  legs  had 
failed  her  suddenly.  Neither  of  them 
spoke  for  some  time.  Then  Marie 
said :  "Perhaps  the  noise  came  from 
next  door." 
130 


THE  GHOST 


"Perhaps,"  said  Angelique,  and 
seeing  that  her  sister  was  listening 
hard,  she  said:  "It  sounded  like 
somebody  falling  on  his  knees." 
She  listened  for  a  long  time,  and 
then,  without  looking  at  her  sister 
she  asked:  "Are  you  afraid?" 

"No,"  said  Marie.     "Are  you?" 

"No,  not  now." 

Angelique  got  up  first  and  said, 
as  she  had  said  before:  "We  really 
must  go  to  bed."  They  held  each 
other  close  to  go  through  the  door 
of  their  bedroom  together,  and 
Marie  turned  the  key  in  the  lock 
while  her  sister  pushed  the  bolt 
home.  They  were  soon  in  bed,  side 
by  side,  and  when  Angelique  had 
blown  out  the  lamp,  which  she  had 
put  close  to  the  bedside  the  two 
sisters  saw  that  the  flame  of  the 
night-light  did  not  burn  as  it  usually 
burned.  It  grew  longer  and  longer 
as  though  it  were  trying  to  get  out 
of  the  glass,  and  the  shadows  it 
threw  on  the  walls  were  not  like  the 
shadows  it  usually  threw. 


THE  GHOST 


Angelique  made  an  effort  and 
began  to  breathe  as  though  she  were 
sleeping  quietly,  and  Marie  did  not 
move  for  fear  of  waking  up  her 
sister.  But  until  morning  came  the 
eyes  of  the  two  sisters  watched  for 
the  ghost  which  had  fallen  in  the 
house  and  which  they  expected  to 
see  at  any  moment.  When  morning 
came  and  it  was  quite  light  the  two 
of  them  got  up  together.  The  first 
thing  they  saw  when  they  went  into 
the  dining-room  was  a  big  bundle  of 
linen  which  had  fallen  to  the  floor  and 
which  the  window  curtains  had  hid- 
den. Then  they  looked  at  one  an- 
other with  a  smile  and  kissed. 


132 


WOLVES!  WOLVES! 

THE  nurses  called  her  granny 
and  talked  to  her  as  though 
she  were  a  little  girl.  She 
had  been  in  the  ward  for  a  fortnight, 
but  could  not  be  persuaded  to  let  her- 
self be  operated  on.  The  doctors 
gathered  round  her  bed  every 
morning.  One  of  them  used  to  talk 
to  her  very  gently.  He  would  laugh, 
showing  a  fine  set  of  white  teeth,  and 
say:  "Come  now,  Granny,  we 
won't  hurt  you  at  all,  and  you  will 
be  as  brisk  as  a  girl  afterwards." 
But  she  shook  her  head,  looked 
down,  and  answered  in  a  clear  soft 
yoice:  "No,  I  won't  have  it  done." 
As  soon  as  the  doctors  had  left 
the  ward  she  got  up  out  of  bed  and 
sat  in  a  chair  by  the  window.  She 
spent  all  her  days  watching  the 

133 


WOLVES !  WOLVES ! 


people  in  the  court-yard.  I  was  her 
neighbour  and  was  often  able  to  do 
little  things  for  her.  Gradually  she 
began  to  talk  to  me  about  her  trouble. 
She  said:  "The  pain  is  inside,  but 
I  have  had  it  so  long  that  I  have  got 
used  to  it  now."  Then  she  would 
look  out  of  the  window  again  and 
say:  "I  should  like  to  go  away 
from  here." 

She  was  quite  happy  that  morning 
because  the  doctor  had  told  her  that 
they  were  going  to  send  her  away. 
She  put  her  odds  and  ends  together, 
and  as  she  did  so  she  told  me  that 
she  had  not  been  in  Paris  long.  Her 
husband  had  died  the  year  before, 
and  her  daughter,  who  lived  in  Paris, 
would  not  leave  her  alone  in  her 
village.  She  had  made  her  sell  her 
cottage  and  all  she  had,  and  now 
she  lived  in  a  little  shop  with  her 
daughter  and  her  son-in-law. 

She  had  been  glad  to  be  in  Paris  at 
first.  But  soon  she  had  begun  to 
miss  the  fields.  She  was  always 
thinking  of  the  people  who  lived  in 

134 


WOLVES!  WOLVES! 


her  little  cottage  now.  They  had 
bought  her  two  cows  and  her  horse, 
but  she  would  not  sell  the  donkey. 
Her  daughter  had  told  her  that  peo- 
ple did  not  keep  donkeys  in  Paris,  but 
she  refused  to  be  parted  from  hers, 
and  she  had  brought  it  with  her. 
The  milkman  was  looking  after  it, 
and  she  used  to  go  and  see  it  every 
day.  But  she  missed  the  country 
and  her  pain  grew  worse.  Her 
daughter  had  brought  her  to  the  hos- 
pital. The  doctor  had  said  that  an 
operation  would  cure  her,  but  she 
preferred  to  keep  her  pain  till  the  end 
of  her  life,  rather  than  undergo  an 
operation. 

Her  daughter  often  used  to  come 
and  see  her.  She  was  a  big  woman 
with  a  pointed  nose  and  hard  eyes. 
She  smiled  to  all  the  patients  as  she 
went  down  the  ward,  and  everybody 
heard  the  words  of  encouragement 
which  she  spoke  to  her  mother. 
That  day  she  stopped  and  talked 
with  the  Sister  for  a  long  time. 
Granny  watched  her  respectfully 

135 


WOLVES!  WOLVES! 


and  as  though  she  were  a  little  bit 
afraid.  She  had  lost  the  happy  look 
she  had  had  in  the  morning,  and 
looked  like  a  little  girl  who  expects 
to  be  scolded.  Her  daughter  came 
down  the  ward,  handing  out  oranges 
to  the  patients.  When  she  got  to  her 
mother,  she  kissed  her  and  patted  her 
and  said  quite  loud:  "Now,  mother, 
you  must  be  reasonable,  and  let  them 
operate  on  you." 

Granny,  in  a  low  voice,  begged  her 
daughter  to  take  her  away,  but  the 
daughter  said:  "No,  no.  I  want 
you  to  get  better."  She  talked  to 
the  patients  about  it,  saying,  that 
her  mother  had  many  years  to  live 
yet,  and  that  she  wanted  her  to  be 
well.  Granny  took  no  notice.  She 
kept  on  saying  in  a  low  voice: 
"Take  me  away,  my  daughter." 
Then  the  daughter  said:  "If  you 
won't  let  them  operate  on  you,  I  shall 
sell  the  donkey."  And  all  the  pa- 
tients had  burst  out  laughing  as  she 
went  away. 

Granny  looked  half  distracted. 
136 


WOLVES!  WOLVES! 


She  looked  round  at  the  laughing 
women,  opened  her  mouth  as  though 
she  were  going  to  call  for  help,  and 
when  the  laughter  burst  out  again 
she  hid  her  head  under  the  sheets. 
I  heard  her  moving  about  all  night. 
She  wasn't  crying  but  she  uttered 
long,  long  sighs  like  moans. 

In  the  morning,  when  the  Sister 
came,  Granny  called  out  to  her: 
"I  will  let  them  do  it,  Sister."  The 
Sister  told  her  she  was  quite  right, 
and  when  the  doctors  came  granny 
said  to  each  one  of  them  in  turn, 
wrinkling  her  forehead  as  she  said  it : 
"Yes,  I  will  let  you  do  it." 

When  the  patients  were  allowed  to 
get  up,  all  those  who  could  walk  went 
to  granny's  bedside.  They  all  talked 
about  their  troubles.  One  of  them 
showed  her  foot,  from  which  three 
toes  were  missing.  The  little  dark, 
thin  woman  said  that  she  had  come 
to,  before  the  operation  was  over,  and 
that  four  men  had  had  to  hold  her 
down,  while  the  wound  was  being 
sewn  up. 

137 


WOLVES!  WOLVES! 


Granny  did  not  seem  to  hear  them. 
She  lay  back  on  her  pillows  and  every 
now  and  then  she  raised  her  hand 
as  though  she  were  knocking  a  fly 
away.  Night  came,  the  nurses  put 
all  the  lights  out  and  went  off  duty, 
and  there  was  only  one  small  light  in 
the  ward,  which  lit  up  a  big  table  with 
linen  and  queer  looking  instruments 
on  it. 

In  the  middle  of  the  night,  the 
Sister  made  her  rounds.  She  walked 
down  the  ward  noiselessly,  and  the 
lantern  she  swung  over  each  bed 
looked  like  a  big  inquisitive  eye. 
Granny  got  up  when  the  lantern 
passed.  She  went  to  the  window 
and  tapped  on  the  glass  with  her 
knuckle.  She  tapped  quite  gently 
and  made  signs  to  someone  in  the 
court-yard.  I  peeped  out.  The 
court-yard  was  quite  white  with 
snow,  and  there  was  nothing  to  be 
seen  but  the  black  twisted  trees, 
whose  branches  stretched  out  to- 
wards us.  Granny  rapped  a  little 
louder,  and  stood  close  to  the  glass  as 

138 


WOLVES!  WOLVES! 


though  she  hoped  that  the  window 
would  be  opened  from  the  outside. 
Then  her  clear,  gentle  voice  rose  in  a 
sort  of  moan.  "Wolves!"  she  said, 
"Wolves!  Wolves!" 

The  night  nurse  came  up  and  tried 
to  keep  her  quiet,  but  granny  went 
to  another  window.  She  rapped  at 
it  as  loudly  as  she  could,  as  though 
she  were  asking  the  trees  in  the 
court-yard  to  help  her,  and  she  went 
on  moaning  in  a  plaintive  voice 
of  entreaty:  "Wolves!  Wolves! 
Wolves."  All  the  patients  woke  up 
and  ran  for  help.  Two  men  took 
hold  of  granny  and  forced  her  to  lie 
down.  They  put  two  broad  boards 
at  each  side  of  her  bed,  and  the  night 
nurse  sat  down  by  the  bedside. 
Granny  kept  jumping  up  from  be- 
tween the  boards  as  though  she  were 
trying  to  get  out  of  her  coffin.  She 
made  signs  with  her  hands  for  a  long 
time,  then  her  arms  were  quiet  and 
she  lay  quite  still,  though  she  went 
on  moaning  ceaselessly:  "Wolves! 
Wolves!  Wolves!"  Her  moan  of 

139 


WOLVES!  WOLVES! 


fear  filled  the  whole  ward.  It  grew 
weaker  towards  morning,  as  though 
her  gentle  little  voice  had  worn  itself 
out.  It  sounded  like  a  child  moan- 
ing, and  when  day  dawned  her 
voice  broke  saying  again :  "Wolves ! 
Wolves!  Wolves!" 


140 


NEW  QUARTERS 

THE  old  ones  were  my  very 
own.  I  knew  their  smallest 
and  their  uttermost  corners. 
There  was  not  a  sound  in  them  that 
was  not  familiar.  I  knew  exactly 
when  my  chairs  would  creak,  and 
the  shadows  which  flitted  on  the 
walls  at  night  were  my  friends.  In 
the  old  quarters  everything  was 
natural,  here  in  the  new  ones  every- 
thing is  suspect. 

The  wind  is  whistling  with  a 
sneering  laugh  round  the  woodwork 
of  the  window,  and  is  shaking  the 
door  as  a  thief  might  shake  it.  The 
shadow  of  the  cupboard  is  like  a 
monstrous  dragon  waiting  to  throw 
itself  on  me.  Something  which  I 
cannot  see  is  drawing  the  flame  of 
the  candle,  it  bends  over  in  the  same 

141 


NEW  QUARTERS 


position  all  the  time.  The  tap  in  the 
kitchen  is  groaning,  and  scolding 
without  stopping,  like  somebody  in 
a  bad  temper.  My  bed  is  not  set 
straight,  and  creaks  every  moment. 
And  just  as  I  am  beginning  to  doze 
the  cupboard  door  falls  open  sud- 
denly. 

October,  1901. 


142 


LITTLE  BEE 

SO  there  you  are,  settled  on  the 
sill  of  my  window  at  last.     You 
have  been  there  a  long,  long 
moment  dancing  in  the  rising  sun. 
The   sun  of  autumn,   which   is   still 
fresh  from  the  coolness  of  the  night. 
Where  do  you   come   from,   little 
black  and  yellow  bee? 

•• 

By  what  road  have  you  come 
through  the  great  town  up  to  my 
sixth-floor  window,  and  what  gaiety 
or  what  despair  has  bidden  you  dance 
so  long  within  the  framework  of  my 
open  window  ? 

Sometimes  you  flew  up  with  a 
determined  spring,  as  though  you 
meant  to  reach  the  heavens,  then 
your  dance  became  sad,  and  you 
dropped  slowly  down  again. 

Tell  me,   little  bee,   do  you  come 

143 


LITTLE  BEE 


from  a  ball  where  you  have  been 
dancing  all  night,  or  do  you  return 
from  the  wars  ? 

When  you  settled  on  the  sill  of  my 
window  the  whole  of  your  little  body 
was  trembling  with  fatigue.  Your 
legs  folded  themselves  back  from 
sheer  weakness,  your  wings  quivered, 
and  your  round  head  moved  and 
swayed  like  the  head  of  an  old  woman 
whose  neck  has  become  weak. 

Now  you  are  sleeping,  little  bee. 
Your  slim  legs  have  fastened  on  to 
the  woodwork,  but  your  body  is  so 
heavy  that  it  leans  over  to  one  side, 
and  you  make  me  think  oi  a  poor  man 
with  no  bed  of  his  own,  who  has  wan- 
dered about  all  night,  and  has  fallen 
asleep  upon  a  bench  in  the  street  at 
daybreak. 

Presently  you  will  fly  away,  you 
will  shake  your  thin  gauzy  slips  of 
wings,  which  look,  just  now,  like 
little  mites  of  dried  fish  scales. 

You  will  fly  down  again  to  earth, 
where  you  will  once  again  find  flowers 
and  running  water. 
144 


LITTLE  BEE 


But  now,  sleep  in  the  beam  of  the 
rising  sun,  sleep  peacefully  on  the 
woodwork  of  my  open  window,  for 
I  do  not  know  where  you  come  from, 
little  bee. 

But  whether  you  come  from  a  ball 
where  you  have  danced  all  night,  or 
whether  you  have  returned  from  the 
wars,  sleep  until  midday  under  the 
soft  rays  of  the  October  sun. 


145 


MY  WELL-BELOVED 

MY  well-beloved  has  gone  and 
night  is  closing  round  me. 
It  cannot  enter  into  me,  for 
in  my  heart  there  burns  a  clear  flame, 
which  lights  up  my  whole  spirit,  and 
which  nothing  can  extinguish. 

In  the  gentle  twi-darkness  I  wan- 
der slowly  along  the  paths  of  the 
garden,  hoping  each  moment  that  I 
shall  see  my  well-beloved  in  the  next 
path. 

Sweet  perfumes  of  roses  and  lilies, 
bitter  perfumes  of  poplars  and  ivy,  I 
feel  you  in  my  hair  and  on  my  lips. 

But  my  lips  still  hold  the  recol- 
lection of  the  living  perfume  of  his 
kiss. 

My  well-beloved  has  gone,  and  my 
soul  is  filled  with  sobbing.  Weep 
over  me,  weeping  willows.  Are  you 
146 


MY  WELL-BELOVED 


not  here  to  weep  over  the  aching 
pains  of  love? 

Your  foliage  hangs  down  like  soft, 
fair  hair,  but  his  is  fairer  and  is  softer 
still. 

Close  your  mysterious  curtains 
round  me,  yew  trees,  so  that  my 
sighs  shall  not  disturb  the  love-tales 
of  the  flowers.  The  sweet-scented 
roses  are  opening  and  trembling  at 
the  approach  of  night.  The  bind- 
weed, which  fears  the  cold,  has  rolled 
its  petals  round  its  flowers  to  wait 
for  the  morning,  which  will  drop  a 
kiss  of  silver  dew  into  its  white  cup. 

Dear,  gentle  night,  your  song  is 
there  to  sing  me  to  sleep,  but  sleep 
has  gone  from  me  with  my  well- 
beloved. 

You  were  singing  while  he  was 
here,  and  we  listened  to  you  in  si- 
lence. Our  hands  clasped,  our  fore- 
heads touched,  and  you  passed  across 
our  faces  with  a  caress  which  made 
our  souls  quiver  in  ecstasy  and  filled 
our  hearts  with  tenderness. 

We  loved  you,  beautiful  night, 

147 


MY  WELL-BELOVED 


with  your  perfume-laden  breeze, 
your  swaying  trees,  your  trembling 
leaves,  with  the  mysterious  sorrow 
of  your  little  springs  and  the  song  of 
your  toads  whistling  into  flutes  of 
pearl. 

This  evening  my  well-beloved  has 
gone.  In  the  shadow  my  eyes  are 
looking  for  his  eyes,  my  fingers  open 
of  themselves  to  caress  his  forehead 
and  the  soft  places  of  his  neck. 

My  face  is  lifting  itself  up  to  feel 
his  breath  upon  it,  the  soft  restraint 
of  his  arm  leaves  my  waist  lonely. 

Sweet  night,  so  kind  to  those  who 
suffer,  draw  a  fold  of  your  veil  across 
my  eyes,  so  that  I  may  no  longer  see 
the  path  by  which  my  well-beloved 
has  gone  away. 


148 


VALSERINE 

CHAPITRE   I 

DEPUIS  que  le  jour  etait  leve, 
Valserine  restait  appuyee  a 
la  fenetre,  comme  les  matins 
oti  elle  attendait  le  ret  our  de  son  pere. 
Elle  savait  bien  qu'il  ne  viendrait 
pas  ce  matin-la ;  mais  elle  ne  pou- 
vait  s'empecher  de  regarder  le  petit 
sentier,  par  ou  il  arrivait  en  se  cour- 
bant,  quand  il  apportait  ses  paquets 
de  marchandises,  passees  en  contre- 
bande. 

Elle  avait  tant  pleure  la  veille,  et 
aussi  toute  la  nuit,  qu'elle  ne  pouvait 
pas  retenir  les  gros  sursauts,  se  ter- 
minant  par  une  toute  petite  plainte, 
que  sa  poitrine  laissait  maintenant 
echapper.  Elle  detourna  brusque- 
ment  les  yeux  du  petit  sentier,  en 

149 


VALSERINE 


entendant  le  pas  d'un  cheval,  sur  le 
rude  chemin  qui  montait  de  la  route 
a  la  maison. 

Elle  se  pencha  avec  inquietude  a 
la  fenetre,  pour  mieux  ecouter,  et 
quand  elle  se  fut  bien  assuree  que  le 
bruit  se  rapprochait,  elle  alia  pousser 
le  verrou  de  la  porte  et  revint  fermer 
tout  doucement  la  fenetre ;  puis, 
elle  attendit  toute  tremblante,  der- 
riere  la  vitre.  Peu  d'instants  apres, 
elle  vit  apparaitre  le  cheval :  il 
gravissait  le  chemin  en  tenant  la 
tete  baissee,  et  sa  bride  glissait  et 
pendait  d'un  seul  cote.  Elle  vit  aussi 
que  rhomme  qui  marchait  pres  du 
cheval  etait  un  gendarme. 

II  s'avangait  en  s'appuyant  des 
deux  poings  sur  ses  hanches ;  et 
son  pas,  bien  mesure,  etait  ferme  et 
regulier. 

La  fillette  s'effaga  pour  ne  pas  etre 
vue.  Elle  entendit  le  cheval  s'arreter 
devant  la  porte,  et  elle  devina  que  le 
gendarme  frappait  avec  le  revers  de 
sa  main.  Elle  ne  savait  pas  si  elle 
devait  repondre  ;  elle  avait  peur  de 
150 


VALSERINE 


desobeir,  et  en  meme  temps  elle 
pensait  que  le  gendarme  finirait  par 
s'en  aller,  en  croyant  que  la  maison 
etait  vide.  Mais  le  gendarme  ne 
s'en  allait  pas  ;  il  essayait  d'ouvrir  la 
porte  et  frappait  plus  fort,  en  appe- 
lant : 

"  Eh,  petite  !  " 

Puis  la  fillette  comprit  qu'il  atta- 
chait  son  cheval  a  la  boucle  de  fer 
scellee  dans  le  mur  et  qu'il  s'eloignait. 
Peu  apres,  elle  entendit  sa  voix 
s'elever  derriere  la  maison.  II  appe- 
lait  fortement : 

"  Valserine  !     Eh,  Valserine  !  " 

II  revint  devant  la  maison  en  re- 
£etant  ses  appels.  Mais,  cette  fois, 
sa  voix  ne  s'enfongait  pas  dans  le 
bois  ;  elle  passait  au-dessus  de  la 
vallee  de  Mijoux  et  s'en  allait  heurter 
la  haute  montagne  d'en  face,  qui  la 
renvoyait  enplusieurs  voix  assourdies, 
comme  si  elle  la  cassait  et  en  envoyait 
les  morceaux  a  la  recherche  de  la 
petite  fille. 

Le  gendarme  se  lassa  d'appeler. 
II  secoua  encore  une  fois  la  porte  et 


VALSERINE 


vint  coller  son  visage  centre  la  vitre, 
en  essayant  de  voir  dans  1'interieur 
de  la  maison. 

Valserine  s'approcha  aussitot. 

Elle  venait  de  reconnaitre  un  gen- 
darme du  village  de  Septmoncel, 
celui  qui  avait  une  petite  fille  si  jolie, 
avec  laquelle  elle  avait  joue  quel- 
quefois. 

Le  gendarme  parut  tout  joyeux  en 
Fapercevant ;  il  lui  fit  un  signe  d'en- 
couragement  en  disant  : 

"  Allons,  petite  '  niauque/  ouvre 
la  porte,  je  ne  te  veux  point  de  mal, 
moi." 

Valserine  ouvrit  la  porte,  toute 
honteuse  de  s'etre  laissee  appeler  si 
longtemps. 

Le  gendarme  prit  une  chaise  pour 
s'asseoir  et  dit  a  la  petite  fille,  qui  se 
tenait  debout  devant  lui : 

"  Voila  que  ton  pere  s'est  fait 
prendre,  et  les  douaniers  disent  que 
tu  Taidais  a  passer  sa  contrebande." 

La  fillette  regarda  le  gendarme 
bien  en  face,  et  elle  repondit : 

"  Non." 
152 


VALSERINE 

"  Pourtant,"  reprit-il,  "  tu  faisais  le 
guet,  hier,  quand  les  douaniers  1'ont 
pris  ?  " 

Valserine  baissa  la  tete. 

"  Et  c'est  parce  qu'il  t'a  entendue 
crier  que  le  pied  lui  a  manque  et 
qu'il  est  tombe  sur  la  pente,  a  travers 
les  arbres  coupes." 

Valserine  releva  vivement  la  tete, 
comme  si  elle  allait  donner  une  ex- 
plication, puis  sa  bouche  se  referma, 
et,  apres  quelques  instants  de  silence, 
elle  demanda  presque  tout  bas  : 

"  Est-ce  que  sa  jambe  est  cassee  ?" 

"  Non,"  dit  le  gendarme,  "  il 
pourra  marcher  bientot." 

Elle  n'attendit  pas  qu'il  eut  fini  la 
reponse  pour  demander  encore  : 

"  Est-ce  que  sa  tete  lui  fait  tou- 
jours  aussi  mal  ?  ' 

Le  gendarme  regarda  de  cote, 
comme  s'il  etait  embarrasse,  puis  il 
ota  son  kepi,  et,  en  le  tapotant  du 
bout  des  doigts,  il  repondit : 

1  Tout  cela  ne  sera  rien,  mais  ton 
pere  va  aller  en  prison,  et  tu  ne  peux 
pas  rester  ici  toute  seule." 

153 


VALSERINE 


Et  comme  la  fillette  levait  sur  lui 
des  yeux  pleins  d'inquietude,  il  lui 
expliqua  que  le  conducteur  du  cour- 
rier  de  Saint-Claude  avait  re$u  1'ordre 
de  la  prendre  le  soir  meme,  a  son 
retour  du  col  de  la  Faucille.  Elle 
n'aurait  qu'a  attendre  le  passage  de 
la  voiture,  en  bas,  sur  la  route,  et 
on  la  conduirait  dans  une  famille  de 
Saint-Claude,  jusqu'aceque  son  pere 
soit  revenu  de  prison. 

Valserine  promit  d'attendre  le  pas- 
sage du  courrier,  et  le  gendarme  s'en 
alia,  en  lui  assurant  qu'il  donnerait 
souvent  des  nouvelles  du  contreban- 
dier. 

La  fillette  referma  la  porte  derriere 
lui,  et  elle  essaya  de  penser. 

Elle  se  rappela  que  son  pere  lui 
avait  dit  peu  de  temps  avant  :  ' '  Tes 
douze  ans  vont  bientot  finir." 

II  avait  ajoute,  apres  un  long 
silence  : 

"  Je  voudrais  que  tu  sois  ouvriere 
diamantaire." 

Souvent  aussi,  il  avait  parle  de 
Tavenir.  C'etait  les  jours  oii  elle 

154 


VALSERINE 


refusait  de  faire  ses  devoirs  de  classe. 
Elle  le  revovait,  penche,  lui  designant 
ses  fautes,  leurs  deux  tetes  si  rap- 
prochees  qu'elles  se  heurtaient  par- 
fois,  et  elle  croyait  1'entendre  encore 
lui  dire :  "  Je  ne  suis  pas  bien  savant, 
mais  ce  que  je  peux  t'apprendre  te 
servira  dans  1'avenir." 

L'avenir.  .  .  .  Elle  repeta  le  mot 
pour  le  fixer.  Cela  lui  apparaissait 
tres  haut  et  tout  semblable  a  ces 
nuages  qui  arrivaient  en  se  bouscu- 
lant  par  le  col  de  la  Faucille  et  qui 
s'enfuyaient  en  s'effilochant  le  long 
des  monts  Jura. 

Puis  la  tourterelle  apprivoisee 
attira  son  attention.  Elle  venait  du 
bois,  chaque  matin,  reclamer  une 
caresse  et  une  friandise.  Valserine 
la  retint  longtemps  dans  ses  deux 
mains,  sans  pouvoir  lui  parler, 
comme  elle  le  faisait  tous  les  jours, 
et,  quand  1'oiseau  se  fut  envole,  la 
fillette  sortit  de  sa  maison  pour  se 
rendre  a  "  la  chambre  du  gardien." 

Elle  fit  un  grand  detour,  en  pren- 
ant  toutes  les  precautions  habituelles 

155 


VALSERINE 


pour  ne  pas  etre  vue.  C'etait  la  que 
son  pere  cachait  ses  marchandises  de 
contrebande. 

Depuis  qu'elle  savait  que  la 
"  chambre  du  gardien "  6tait  une 
cachette,  Valserine  s'y  rendait  tou- 
jours  avec  crainte.  Pendant  long- 
temps,  elle  avait  cru  que  c'etait 
seulement  dans  cet  endroit  frais  que 
les  marchandises  etaient  a  leur  place. 
Elle  n'avait  connu  le  danger  que  le 
soir  ou  les  douaniers  etaient  venus  se 
mettre  en  embuscade  sur  1'amoncelle- 
ment  des  quartiers  de  roche  qui  re- 
couvraient  la  cachette.  La  nuit 
commen9ait  d'entrer  dans  "  la 
chambre  du  gardien."  La  fillette 
et  son  pere  venaient  de  finir  d'enve- 
lopper  soigneusement  les  petits 
paquets  faciles  a  dissimuler  dans  les 
poches  et  que  le  contrebandier  devait 
aller  vendre  le  lendemain. 

Us  allaient  sortir  de  la  cachette, 
lorsqu'ils  entendirent  tout  pres  d'eux 
une  voix  un  peu  basse  qui  disait : 

"  II  doit  y  avoir  des  trous  pro- 
fonds  parmi  ces  pierres." 

156 


VALSERINE 


La  voix  s'etait  subitement  assour- 
die,  comme  si  elle  s'eloignait ;  il  y 
avail  eu  quelques  pietinements,  et 
la  meme  voix  avail  repris  : 

"  J'ai  envie  de  faire  partir  mon 
revolver  la-dedans." 

Aussitot,  la  fillette  sentit  que  son 
pere  la  saisissait  et  rattirait  violem- 
ment  a  lui ;  elle  avail  senti  aussi 
qu'il  etait  tout  tremblant  quand  il 
lui  avail  dit  Ires  bas  :  "Us  son!  au- 
dessus  de  nous." 

Valserine  n'eprouvait  aucune  peur 
a  ce  moment.  Elle  ne  comprenait 
pas  pourquoi  son  pere  tremblait  si 
fort  contre  elle.  Elle  voulut  lui 
parler,  mais  il  Ten  empecha  en  lui 
disant :  "  Les  douaniers  sont  la." 

La  fillette  avait  subitement  devine 
que  son  pere  cachait  des  marchan- 
dises  de  contrebande,  tout  comme  le 
fils  de  la  vieille  Marienne,  qui  demeu- 
rait  en  bas  de  la  montagne,  et  que  les 
gendarmes  avaient  deja  emmene 
plusieurs  fois  en  prison.  Et,  malgre 
1'obscurite,  elle  mil  ses  deux  mains 
devant  son  visage  pour  cacher  a  son 

157 


VAlvSERINE 


pere  la  grande  honte  qui  la  faisait 
rougir. 

Mais  son  pere  se  courba  davantage 
sur  elle,  en  la  serrant  plus  fort.  Elle 
comprit  sa  pensee  et,  pour  le  rassurer, 
elle  lui  passa  un  bras  autour  du  cou, 
pendant  qu'elle  lui  appuyait  son 
autre  main  sur  la  joue.  Us  resterent 
ainsi  pendant  un  long  moment,  Val- 
serine  supportant  le  poids  de  la  tete 
de  son  pere,  qui  s'abandonnait  sur 
la  sienne. 

Us  se  separerent  en  entendant  des 
petits  coups  sees  contre  les  pierres 
de  la  -cachette ;  puis  la  voix  du 
douanier  arriva  encore  pres  d'eux, 
comme  si  elle  sortait  d'un  porte- 
voix.  Elle  disait : 

"  Ma  baguette  ne  touche  pas  le 
fond." 

Une  autre  voix,  paraissant  assez 
eloignee,  dit : 

"  Reste  done  tranquille,  tu  vas 
faire  sortir  de  ce  trou  quelques  betes, 
qui  vont  nous  ennuyer  cette  nuit." 

Les  petits  coups  sees  continuerent 
a  se  faire  entendre,  et,  tout  a  coup,  un 

158 


VALSERINE 


glissement  brusque  fit  comprendre  a 
Valserine  que  le  douanier  avail  laisse 
tomber  sa  baguette  dans  la  "  cham- 
bre  du  gardien." 

Valserine  et  son  pere  s'assirent  en 
silence  sur  la  pierre  etroite  qui  se 
trouvait  pres  d'eux,  et  ils  resterent 
jusqu'au  matin,  sans  oser  bouger  ni 
se  parler  tout  bas. 

Ce  fut  seulement  lorsque  le  grand 
jour  entra  dans  la  "  chambre  du 
gardien "  que  le  contrebandier  se 
decida  a  sortir,  pour  s'assurer  que 
les  douaniers  n'etaient  plus  la. 

Et  maintenant  que  Valserine  se 
retrouvait  seule  dans  cette  cachette, 
elle  se  souvenait  des  moindres  details 
de  cette  nuit  d'angoisse.  II  y  avait 
un  peu  plus  d'un  an  de  cela,  et,  de- 
puis,  elle  avait  fait  tant  de  ques- 
tions a  son  pere  qu'elle  savait  a  pre- 
sent beaucoup  de  choses. 

Elle  savait  qu'il  ne  fallait  jamais 
passer  par  le  meme  chemin  pour  aller 
a  la  "  chambre  du  gardien,"  afin 
de  ne  tracer  aucun  sentier  visible. 
Elle  savait  qu'un  homme  peut  etre 

159 


VAI.SERINE 


contrebandier  sans  etre  un  voleur,  et 
elle  sentait  bien  qu'un  lien  de  plus 
1'attachait  a  son  pere,  depuis  qu'il 
lui  avail  parle  comme  a  une  amie. 

Et  voila  qu'elle  eprouvait  presque 
de  la  fierte  en  se  rappelant  les  paroles 
que  le  gendarme  venait  de  lui  dire  : 
"  Les  douaniers  affirment  que  tu 
aidais  ton  pere  a  passer  sa  contre- 
bande." 

Elle  s'assura  que  toutes  les  mar- 
chandises  etaient  a  1'abri  de  rhumi- 
dite ;  elle  roula  en  pelotte  quelques 
bouts  de  ficelle  qui  trainaient  a  terre, 
et  elle  sortit  de  la  "  chambre  du 
gardien,"  avec  les  memes  precautions 
qu'elle  avait  prises  pour  y  entrer. 
Elle  revint  a  la  maison  pour  y  mettre 
tout  en  ordre,  et,  quand  1'heure  fut 
venue,  elle  ferma  la  porte  avec  soin 
et  descendit  sur  la  route  pour  prendre 
le  courrier,  au  passage,  ainsi  qu'elle 
1'avait  promis  au  gendarme. 

La  voiture  etait  pleine  de  monde. 
Le  conducteur  voulut  faire  monter 
Valserine  pres  de  lui,  mais  un  homme 
deja  vieux  ceda  sa  place,  apres  avoir 
160 


VAI.SERINE 


longuement  regarde  la  fillette,  et 
monta  lui-meme  sur  le  siege,  a  cote 
du  conducteur.  Valserine  tourna  le 
dos  aux  chevaux.  Elle  retenait  de 
la  main  le  rideau  a  grosse  toile,  a 
rayures  rouges,  qui  fermait  la  voiture 
des  deux  cotes,  et  il  lui  semblait  que 
c'etait  les  montagnes  qui  se  depla9ai- 
ent,  chaque  fois  que  la  voiture  tour- 
nait  un  lacet  de  la  route.  De  temps 
en  temps,  la  voix  du  conducteur 
laissait  echapper  une  sorte  de  son 
plein  et  bref : 

"  Allonlonlon.  .  .  ." 

Ce  son  venait  a  intervalles  regu- 
liers,  comme  si  un  compteur  in- 
visible en  eut  regie  le  bon  fonctionne- 
ment,  et  la  fillette  1'attendait,  comme 
un  chose  necessaire  a  la  solidite  de  la 
voiture,  aussi  bien  qu'a  la  bonne 
allure  des  chevaux. 

On  atteignit  presque  tout  de  suite 
le  village  de  Lajoux.  C'etait  dans 
ce  village  que  Valserine  allait  a 
1'ecole.  Tous  les  enfants  qui  jouaient 
devant  les  portes  devaient  savoir  que 
le  contrebandier  etait  en  prison,  et, 
M  161 


VALSERINE 


de  crainte  d'etre  aper9ue  par  eux,  la 
fillette  se  dissimula,  en  se  f  aisant  toute 
petite,  derriere  le  rideau  de  toile. 

La  voiture  s'arreta  un  bon  moment 
au  village  de  Septmoncel.  Le  gen- 
darme du  matin  passa  en  tenant  sa 
petite  fille  par  la  main,  et  Valserine 
vit  que  tous  deux  lui  souriaient  d'un 
air  d'encouragement. 

Puis  le  voyage  continua.  La 
fillette  remarqua  que  les  montagnes 
devenaient  plus  noires  et  plus  hautes 
et  qu'elles  semblaient  tourner  plus 
vite  autour  de  la  route ;  et,  au 
moment  ou  la  nuit  tombait,  elle 
s'apergut  que  la  voiture  entrait  dans 
la  ville  de  Saint-Claude. 

Quand  les  chevaux  se  furent 
arretes  au  coin  de  la  place,  Valserine 
vit  s'approcher  d'elle  une  jeune 
femme  entouree  de  trois  enfants. 
Elle  la  reconnut  pour  1'avoir  vue, 
peu  de  temps  avant,  causer  avec 
son  pere,  a  la  derniere  fete  du 
village  de  Lajoux. 

La  jeune  femme  lui  dit  tout  de 
suite  : 
162 


VALSERINE 


"  Ton  pere  voulait  que  je  te  prenne 
seulement  1'annee  prochaine.  Eh 
bien !  tu  commenceras  une  annee 
plus  tot,  voila  tout." 

Puis  elle  fit  passer  ses  enfants  tous 
du  meme  cote,  pour  pouvoir  marcher 
pres  de  Valserine. 

La  fillette  ne  trouva  rien  a  re- 
pondre. 

Elle  etait  un  peu  etourdie  par  le 
voyage.  Un  bruit  de  roues  rest  ait 
dans  ses  oreilles  et  elle  s'inquietait  de 
ne  plus  entendre  la  voix  monotone 
du  conducteur,  qui  1'avait  tran- 
quillisee  tout  le  long  de  la  route. 
Elle  vit  s'allumer  tout  a  coup,  de- 
vant  elle,  une  lumiere  suspendue 
dans  le  vide,  puis  une  autre,  et  ce  ne 
fut  qu'a  la  troisieme  qu'elle  reconnut 
les  bees  de  gaz.  La  rue  mal  pavee 
avait  une  pente  tres  raide,  que  les 
trois  enfants  s'amusaient  a  descendre 
en  courant,  pendant  que  la  jeune 
femme  indiquait  a  Valserine  les  mau- 
vais  pas  ou  les  quelques  marches  qui 
se  trouvaient  de  loin  en  loin  sur  le 
trottoir.  On  tourna  dans  une  rue 

163 


VALSERINE 


presque  noire,  et  les  enfants  entre- 
rent  dans  une  maison,  en  bousculant 
la  vieille  femme  qui  les  attendait  sur 
la  porte. 

Ce  fut  seulement  le  troisieme  jour 
de  son  arrivee  que  Valserine  sut 
qu'elle  allait  entrer  comme  apprentie 
dans  une  diamanterie.  C'etait  un 
dimanche.  La  jeune  femme  s'etait 
levee  beaucoup  plus  tard  que  d'habi- 
tude,  les  petits  avaient  leurs  jolis 
vetements,  et  la  table  de  la  salle  a 
manger  etait  mieux  garnie  que  les 
autres  jours. 

Au  milieu  du  babillage  bruyant 
des  enfants,  Valserine  apprit  que  la 
jeune  femme  etait  veuve,  qu'elle 
s'appelait  Mme  Remy,  et  qu'elle 
etait  ouvriere  diamantaire.  Elle 
apprit  aussi  que  le  metier  de  diaman- 
taire etait  propre,  qu'il  donnait  peu 
de  fatigue,  et  que  les  femmes  y 
gagnaient  leur  vie  aussi  large  ment 
que  les  hommes. 

Mme     Remy    avait     ajoute,     en 
faisant  un  geste  en  rond  autour  de  la 
table : 
164 


VAI^ERINB 


"  Cest  moi  qui  fais  vivre  tout  le 
monde  ici." 

Elle  retira  la  bague  qu'elle  portait 
au  doigt,  pour  mieux  montrer  a  la 
fillette  les  facettes  qu'il  fallait  tailler, 
afin  que  la  pierre  put  donner  tout 
son  eclat.  Puis  elle  lui  fit  compren- 
dre  combien  sa  chance  etait  grande 
d'avoir  ete  acceptee  parmi  les 
diamantaires,  qui  font  peu  d'appren- 
tis,  de  peur  qu'un  trop  grand  nombre 
d'ouvriers  ne  fasse  diminuer  les 
salaires. 

Valserine  avait  souvent  entendu 
parler  des  diamanteries  du  pays ; 
mais  elle  y  apportait  pour  la  pre- 
miere fois  de  1' attention.  Elle  avait 
appris  a  1'ecole  que  le  diamant  etait 
une  pierre  tres  dure,  et  elle  se  souve- 
nait  que  la  maitresse  de  classe  avait 
affirme  que  la  roue  d'une  charrette 
lourdement  chargee  pouvait  passer 
dessus  sans  parvenir  a  1'entamer. 
Tout  le  jour,  elle  pensa  a  la  difnculte 
qu'elle  allait  avoir  a  tenir  un  si  petit 
objet  dans  ses  mains.  Elle  imagina, 
pour  tailler  les  pierres,  un  solide 

165 


VALSERINB 


couteau  a  lame  tranchante,  comme 
le  rasoir  de  son  pere.  Elle  se  vit 
assise  sur  une  chaise  basse,  devant 
une  table  basse  aussi,  sur  laquelle  se 
rangeaient  des  boites  pleines  de 
pierres  brillantes  et  precieuses. 

Une  crainte  lui  venait  de  ce  metier 
si  difficile.  Aussi,  quand  elle  entra 
dans  la  diamanterie,  le  lendemain 
matin,  elle  regarda  tout  a  la  fois. 
Elle  vit  les  grandes  baies  vitrees,  qui 
laissaient  entrer  des  deux  cotes  toute 
la  lumiere  du  dehors  ;  elle  vit  le 
plafond  fait  de  briques  rouges,  et  le 
mur  du  fond  avec  son  cartel  rend, 
accroche  tres  haut,  et  ne  put  s'em- 
pecher  de  compter  les  barreaux  d'une 
echelle  placee  juste  au-dessous  du 
cartel ;  elle  vit  le  long  tuyau  pose, 
comme  une  chose  dangereuse,  bien 
au  milieu  de  la  salle,  et  tout  entoure 
de  cercles  ou  venaient  s'enrouler  les 
courroies  ;  elle  vit  aussi,  a  droite  et 
a  gauche  des  longues  baies  vitrees, 
des  hommes  et  des  femmes  assis 
cote  a  cote,  sur  de  hauts  tabourets,  et 
qui  tenaient  leur  visage  tourne  vers 
166 


VALSERINB 


elle,  avec  curiosite.  Au  meme  instant, 
elle  entendit  Mme  Remy  lui  dire  : 

"  Prends  garde  aux  courroies,  Val- 
serine  !  'J 

Elle  se  retourna  aussitot  et, 
comme  Mme  Remy  la  prenait  a 
1'epaule,  elle  se  laissa  guider  pour 
passer  a  droite,  derriere  la  rangee 
des  ouvriers.  Elle  devina  que 
chaque  visage  se  retournait  sur  elle, 
au  passage,  mais  elle  n'osa  pas 
lever  les  yeux,  et  elle  ne  vit  plus  que 
les  tabourets,  qu'elle  depassait  un 
a  un.  Puis  une  pression  de  la  main 
de  Mme  Remy  1'obligea  a  s'arreter, 
et  elle  entendit  la  meme  recomman- 
dation  que  tout  a  1'heure  : 

"  Prends  bien  garde  aux  cour- 
roies  !  " 

Elle  ota  son  vetement  pour  mettre 
une  grande  blouse  a  petits  carreaux 
bleus,  que  Mme  Remy  lui  avait 
achetee  la  veille,  en  lui  disant  qu'elle 
remplacerait  dorenavant  son  tablier 
d'ecoliere.  Elle  vit  encore  Mme 
Remy  lui  sourire,  et,  malgre  le  ronfle- 
ment  qui  commen9ait  a  lui  emplir  les 

167 


VALSERINE 


oreilles,  elle  entendit  qu'elle  lui  re- 
commandait  de  ne  pas  bouger  de  sa 
place  et  de  bien  regarder  ce  qui  se 
faisait  autour  d'elle,  afin  de  se 
familiariser  avec  les  choses. 

Valserine  s'assit  comme  les  autres 
sur  un  haut  tabouret.  Sa  nouvelle 
blouse,  trop  longue,  la  genait  un  peu 
aux  genoux.  Elle  ecroisa  ses  mains 
pour  etre  bien  sage,  et  ainsi  qu'on  le 
lui  avait  recommande,  elle  regarda 
ce  qui  se  faisait  dans  la  diamanterie. 

Elle  vit  tous  les  diamantaires  se 
pencher  de  la  meme  fagon  et  avec 
les  memes  gestes  recourbes,  sur  une 
plaque  ronde,  posee  devant  eux ; 
mais  elle  fut  longtemps  avant  de 
distinguer  que  cette  plaque  etait  la 
meule,  sur  laquelle  on  taillait  le 
diamant. 

Des  le  lendemain,  elle  commenga 
a  rendre  quelques  services  autour 
d'elle.  Des  mots  precis  lui  indiquai- 
ent  ce  qu'elle  devait  faire :  "  Val- 
serine, passe-moi  ma  poudre  de 
diamant.  Non,  pas  cette  boite-la ; 
1'autre,  celle  qui  est  ronde." 
168 


VALSERINE 

"  Mets  ce  plomb  dans  le  moule,  et 
augmente  un  peu  la  flamme  du  gaz." 

Au  bout  d'une  quinzaine  de  jours, 
Valserine  connaissait  par  leur  nom, 
tous  les  outils  de  la  diamanterie. 

Elle  savait  verser  la  quantite 
necessaire  de  poudre  de  diamant 
sur  la  meule  d'acier,  qui  tournait  si 
vite  qu'il  fallait  la  regarder  atten- 
tivement  pour  la  voir  tourner.  Elle 
savait  aussi  faire  fondre  la  petite 
boule  de  plomb  dans  laquelle  on 
incruste  la  pierre,  et  qu'on  maintient 
sur  la  meule  a  1'aide  d'une  pince 
lourde.  Elle  n'entendait  plus  la  re- 
commandation  si  souvent  repetee 
des  premiers  jours  :  "  Prends  garde 
aux  courroies  !  ' 

Les  hommes  et  les  femmes  la  re- 
gardaient  maintenant  sans  curiosite. 
Plusieurs  meme  lui  montraient  un 
visage  affectueux,  et  elle  sentait  bien 
qu'elle  etait  parmi  eux  comme  dans 
une  grande  famille. 

Cependant,  quand  Mme  Remy  lui 
demandait  si  elle  aimait  son  metier, 
elle  hesitait  toujours  avant  de 

169 


VALSERINE 


repondre :  "  Oui."  C'etait  a  ce 
moment-la  que  la  pensee  d'un  autre 
metier  lui  venait.  Elle  n'aurait  pas 
su  dire  lequel ;  elle  n'en  desirait 
aucun  de  ceux  qu'elle  connaissait. 

Elle  pensait  seulement  a  un  metier 
plus  rude,  et  qui  1'eut  obligee  a 
quitter  souvent  son  tabouret.  Elle 
faisait  avec  une  grande  obeissance 
tout  ce  qu'on  lui  commandait ; 
mais  peu  a  peu  une  sorte  de  mepris 
se  glissait  en  elle,  pour  ces  pierres 
que  Ton  touchait  avec  tant  de  soin ; 
et  un  jour  qu'elle  en  avait  laisse 
echapper  une  de  ses  doigts,  elle  eut 
un  grand  etonnement  en  voyant  avec 
quelle  inquietude  Mme  Remy 
1'obligea  a  la  retrouver  de  suite. 

Elle  voyait  bien  que  c'etait  la  les 
pierres  les  plus  rares ;  mais  elle  ne 
pouvait  pas  comprendre  pourquoi  on 
leur  accordait  une  si  grande  impor- 
tance. 

Des  les  premiers  jours,  elle  avait 
remarque  que  les  diamantaires 
etaient  mieux  vetus  que  les  autres 
ouvriers  de  Saint-Claude ;  les 
170 


VALSERINE 


femmes  portaient  des  robes  bien 
ajustees,  et  leurs  cheveux  etaient 
tou jours  arranges  d'une  facon  jolie. 

II  arriva  un  matin  qu'une  ouvriere 
voisine  fut  prise  d'impatience.  Elle 
soulevait  et  reposait  la  pince  sur 
la  meule  en  disant  d'un  air  con- 
trarie  : 

"  Je  ne  peux  pas  trouver  le  sens 
de  cette  pierre,  et  la  journee  passera 
avant  que  j'aie  pu  lui  tailler  une 
seule  facette." 

Cela  inquieta  beaucoup  Valserine. 

Elle  n'osait  pas  faire  de  question, 
mais  elle  suivait  des  yeux  tous  les 
mouvements  de  I'ouvriere  mecon- 
tente. 

Mme  Remy  s'en  apergut.  Elle 
fit  signe  a  la  fillette  de  s'approcher 
d'elle  et  elle  lui  expliqua  que  le 
diamant  avait  un  cote  par  ou  il  etait 
impossible  de  Tentamer,  et  qu'il 
fallait  parfois  chercher  longtemps 
avant  de  trouver  Fendroit  oii  Ton 
pourrait  faire  la  premiere  facette. 

Valserine  comprit  que  ce  metier,  si 
propre  et  si  joli,  ne  demandait  qu'une 

171 


VALSERINE 


grande  patience  et  beaucoup  d' atten- 
tion. Elle  se  rappela  que  son  pere 
1'avait  choisi  pour  elle,  depuis  long- 
temps,  et  elle  ressentit  du  contente- 
ment  en  pensant  qu'il  devait  etre 
moins  malheureux  dans  sa  prison, 
maintenant  qu'il  savait  sa  fille  dans 
une  diamanterie. 


CHAPITRE  II 

LA  semaine  finissait  et  Valserine 
attendait  encore  la  visite  du  gen- 
darme de  Septmoncel.  II  n'etait  pas 
venu  le  lundi  d'avant,  donner  des 
nouvelles  du  prisonnier,  comme  il 
avait  fait  chaque  semaine,  depuis 
deux  mois.  Elle  savait  que  son  pere 
souffrait  tou jours  de  sa  blessure  a  la 
tete,  et  une  grande  impatience  1'em- 
pechait  d'apporter  de  1'attention  a 
son  travail.  Elle  se  trompait  a 
chaque  instant,  et  donnait  aux 
ouvrieres  des  objets  qu'elles  ne  lui 
avaient  pas  demandes.  Elle  laissa 
172 


VAI^ERINE 

tomber  par  terre  deux  tout  petits 
diamants,  qu'elle  n'aurait  jamais  pu 
retrouver,  sans  Taide  de  Mme  Remy. 
Cependant,  personne  ne  la  gronda, 
comme  elle  s'y  attendait.  Elle 
s'apergut  bientot  que  les  regards 
des  diamantaires  avaient  quelque 
chose  de  change,  et  qu'ils  s'arretaient 
longuement  sur  elle.  II  lui  sembla 
aussi  que  tous  avaient  des  choses 
secretes  a  se  dire  ce  jour-la.  Us  se 
rapprochaient  pour  se  parler,  et 
aussitot  que  leurs  yeux  rencontraient 
ceux  de  Valserine,  ils  les  baissaient, 
comme  s'ils  etaient  genes  d'etre  vus 
par  elle. 

Valserine  vit  Mme  Remy  faire  un 
signe  a  sa  voisine  et  se  pencher  vers 
elle.  Elle  vit  les  yeux  de  I'ouvriere 
se  tourner  de  son  cote,  et  se  detourner 
de  suite.  Elle  devina  que  les  deux 
femmes  parlaient  d'elle,  et  dans 
Tinstant  ou  les  courroies  glissaient 
en  silence,  comme  cela  arrive  souvent 
dans  les  usines,  la  fillette  entendit 
que  1'ouvriere  disait  : 

"  Maintenant  il  a  fini  sa  prison." 

173 


VAI^SERINE 


Aussitot  tout  devint  clair  pour 
clle.  Elle  comprit  pourquoi  le  gen- 
darme n'etait  pas  venu.  Elle  com- 
prit aussi  les  regards  furtifs  et 
mysterieux  des  diamantaires,  et  elle 
attendit,  pleine  de  confiance,  la  fin 
de  la  journee,  en  pensant  que  Mme 
Remy  allait  lui  dire,  comme  a  tout 
le  monde,  que  son  pere  etait  sorti  de 
prison. 

Le  soir,  pendant  1'heure  du  diner, 
Mme  Remy  dit  a  Valserine  : 

"  Demain,  nous  irons  chercher  ton 
linge,  et  le  reste  de  tes  effets,  dans  la 
maison  de  ton  pere." 

La  fillette  eut  un  mouvement  si 
vif,  que  sa  chaise  se  recula  de  la 
table.  Elle  la  rapprocha  beaucoup 
plus  pres  qu'il  ne  fallait,  et  son 
regard  chercha  de  nouveau  celui  de 
Mme  Remy.  Mais  Mme  Remy 
regardait  a  present  son  verre  avec 
attention ;  elle  le  prit  pour  en  frotter 
les  bords,  tout  en  disant : 

"  J'ai  demande  a  Grosgoigin  de 
nous  conduire." 

Elle  continua  de  frotter  son  verre 

174 


VALSERINE 


avec  sa  serviette,  comme  si  cela 
etait  la  chose  la  plus  importante  du 
moment,  et  elle  ajouta  : 

"  Sa  voiture  est  grande,  et  nous 
pourrons  rapporter  ici  toutes  les 
choses  qui  peuvent  te  servir." 

Elle  sortit  presque  aussitot  de 
table,  pendant  que  les  enfants  de- 
mandaient  en  criant  qu'on  les  em- 
menat  aussi  dans  la  voiture. 

Le  lendemain,  de  bonne  heure, 
Grosgoigin  vint  prendre  Mme  Remy 
avec  ses  trois  enfants  et  Valserine. 

Le  cheval  avangait  lentement  sur 
la  route,  qui  allait  sans  cesse  en 
montant.  Les  enfants  se  mirent  a 
babiller.  Us  attiraient  1' attention  de 
Valserine  sur  tout  ce  qu'ils  voyaient ; 
mais  Valserine  ne  leur  repondait  pas 
toujours  ;  elle  avait  remarque  Fair 
soucieux  de  Mme  Remy,  et  cela 
Tempechait  de  montrer  toute  la  joie 
qu'elle  portait  en  elle. 

II  fallut  s'arreter  a  Septmoncel 
pour  le  repas  de  midi.  Le  gendarme 
entra  dans  la  salle,  ou  la  petite 
famille  dejeunait  seule.  Valserine 

175 


VALSERINE 

vit  Mme  Remy  se  lever  precipitam- 
ment  pour  aller  audevant  de  lui,  et 
tous  deux  sortirent  de  la  salle,  en 
parlant  a  voix  basse. 

La  fillette  fut  tres  surprise  de  voir 
Mme  Remy  revenir  toute  seule. 
Elle  apercut  peu  apres  le  gendarme 
par  la  fenetre  ouverte.  II  remontait 
la  rue,  sans  hate,  le  buste  un  peu 
penche,  et  ses  deux  mains  derriere 
le  dos. 

Le  voyage  reprit  apres  le  dejeuner. 
Les  enfants  commengerent  de  laisser 
aller  leurs  petites  tetes,  au  balance- 
ment  de  la  voiture,  et  ils  finirent  par 
s'endormir  tout  a  fait. 

Mme  Remy  etait  assise  juste  en 
face  de  Valserine.  De  temps  en 
temps,  elle  respirait  longuement, 
comme  les  gens  qui  prennent  une 
grande  resolution,  et  Valserine 
croyait  tou jours  qu'elle  allait  lui 
parler.  Puis,  la  jeune  femme  de- 
tournait  son  visage  de  celui  de  la 
fillette,  et  elle  paraissait  tres  occupee 
a  empecher  les  enfants  endormis  de 
glisser  de  la  banquette.  Valserine 
176 


VALSERINB 


1'aidait  de  son  mieux,  en  soutenant 
la  tete  de  Tun  d'eux,  mais  elle  se 
renversait  constamment  en  arriere, 
pour  apercevoir  le  tournant  d'une 
montagne  qui  cachait  sa  maison. 
Ouand  la  voiture  traversa  le 

t-*s 

village  de  Lajoux,  Valserine  sentit 
en  elle  comme  un  bouillonnement. 
Elle  se  mil  a  rire  et  a  remuer  les 
jambes.  Elle  avail  en  vie  de  parler 
aussi.  Elle  voulait  dire  a  Mme 
Remy  ce  qu'elle  avail  entendu  la 
veille  dans  la  diamanterie.  Elle 
voulait  lui  demander  depuis  combien 
de  jours  son  pere  avait  fini  sa  prison. 
II  lui  semblait  que  toutes  ces  choses 
seraient  faciles  a  dire,  si  les  enfants 
se  reveillaient.  Mais  ils  continuaient 
de  dormir  tranquillement,  et  la  nl- 
lette  sentit  augmenter  sa  timidite 
devant  Fair  ennuye  de  Mme  Remy. 
Elle  craignit  de  la  facher  et  de  Ten- 
tendre  blamer  son  pere,  comme  cela 
etait  arrive,  chaque  fois  que  le  gen- 
darme avait  donne  des  nouvelles  du 
prisonnier.  Alors  elle  se  pencha  da- 
vantage,  avec  1'espoir  de  voir  son 

N  177 


VAIvSERINE 


pere  au  has  du  chemin  qui  grimpait 
a  leur  maison. 

Maintenant  la  voiture  desceridait 
rapidement  la  route  tres  en  pente 
qui  va  de  Lajoux  a  Mijoux.  Au 
detour  d'un  lacet,  Valserine  s'agita 
brusquement.  Elle  repoussa  la  tete 
de  1'enfant  qu'elle  soutenait,  et  se 
mit  a  crier  d'une  voix  forte  : 

"  Arretez  !     On  est  arrive  !  " 

Elle  disait  cela  a  Grosgoigin  et  a 
Mme  Remy  tout  a  la  fois.  En 
meme  temps,  elle  regardait  de  tous 
cotes  avec  une  vivacite  extraordin- 
aire ;  puis  elle  se  mit  a  secouer  la 
poignee  de  la  petite  portiere  qui  se 
trouvait  pres  d'elle,  a  Tarriere  de  la 
voiture. 

Elle  la  secouait  si  fortement,  sans 
parvenir  a  1'ouvrir,  que  Mme  Remy 
la  retint  par  sa  robe,  en  lui  disant : 

"  Attends  !  attends  que  la  voiture 
soit  arretee." 

La  fillette  se  redressa  pour  donner 
un  vigoureux  coup  de  pied  dans  la 
portiere,  qui  s'ouvrit  violemment  en 
faisant  grincer  ses  gonds ;  et  pendant 
178 


VAI^ERINE 

que  la  voiture  ralentissait,  Valser- 
ine  en  descendit,  sans  se  servir  du 
marchepied.  Elle  fit  un  tour  sur 
elle  meme  en  ouvrant  les  bras.  Elle 
fit  trois  ou  quatre  pas  trop  grands  et 
mal  assures  et,  au  moment  ou  Gros- 
goigin  arretait  tout  a  fait  son  cheval, 
la  nllette  sautait  le  fosse"  de  la  route, 
pour  gagner  en  biais  le  chemin,  qui 
montait  tres  raide  jusqu'a  sa  maison, 
placee  a  mi-cote  de  la  montagne, 
au  commencement  de  la  partie 
boisee. 

Mme  Remy  la  rappela,  tout  en 
empechant  les  enfants  de  descendre. 

Elle  disait,  comme  1'instant 
d'avant : 

"Attends!   Attends!" 

Mais  Valserine  n'attendait  pas. 
Elle  courait  vers  le  chemin  et  quand 
elle  1'eut  atteint,  elle  se  mit  a  le 
gravir,  a  grandes  enjambees,  en  se 
tenant  courbee  en  deux. 

Mme  Remy  1'appela  encore. 

II  y  eut  comme  une  angoisse  dans 
sa  voix,  qu'elle  essaya  de  renforcer, 
quand  elle  dit : 

179 


VALSERINE 


"  Je  t'en  prie,  Valserine,  attends- 
moi,  il  faut  que  je  te  parle  tout  de 
suite!  .  .  ." 

Elle  cut  un  mouvement  d' impa- 
tience, en  voyant  que  la  fillette  con- 
tinuait  de  monter  avec  la  meme 
rapidite,  et  apres  avoir  fait  descendre 
de  voiture  les  trois  petits,  elle  s'en- 
gagea  avec  eux  sur  le  rude  chemin. 

Pendant  ce  temps,  Valserine  etait 
deja  entree  dans  sa  maison,  en 
faisant  un  grand  geste  de  desap- 
pointement. 

Elle  en  ressortit  presque  aussitot, 
pour  lancer  un  cri  aigu  et  prolonge 
comme  un  signal.  Son  regard  s'en 
alia  au  loin  dans  tous  les  sens,  et 
quand  elle  le  ramena  plus  pres,  elle 
ne  vit  que  Grosgoigin  qui  faisait 
reculer  son  cheval,  afin  de  ranger  la 
voiture  sur  le  cote  de  la  route,  et 
Mme  Remy,  qui  montait  penible- 
ment,  en  tirant  un  enfant  de  chaque 
main.  Elle  attendit  encore  quel- 
ques  instants,  et  comme  la  reponse 
a  son  cri  ne  venait  pas,  elle  se  mit  a 
courir  vers  la  "  chambre  du  gardien." 
180 


VAIvSERINE 


La,  non  plus,  rien  n'avait  ete  de- 
range. Les  paquets  de  tabac  etaient 
toujours  enveloppes  de  gros  papier 
gris,  et  les  boites  de  fer-blanc,  pleines 
de  chocolat,  s'alignaient  avec  1'ordre 
qu'elle  y  avait  mis  a  son  depart. 

Elle  eut  encore  un  geste  de  decep- 
tion, et  ainsi  qu'elle  1'avait  fait  dans 
sa  maison,  elle  sortit  de  la  "  chambre 
du  gardien  "  avec  1'idee  de  lancer  le 
meme  cri  prolonge.  II  lui  sembla 
qu'elle  n'avait  pas  donne  toute  sa 
voix,  la  premiere  fois,  et  elle  gonfla 
sa  poitrine,  aiin  de  lancer,  aussi  loin 
que  possible,  ce  nouvel  appel. 

Mais,  au  meme  instant,  elle  recula, 
comme  si  une  main  mysterieuse 
venait  de  la  toucher  au  visage.  Elle 
se  rappelait  brusquement  qu'elle 
etait  devant  1'entree  de  la  "  chambre 
du  gardien,"  et  comme  si  elle  eut 
couru  tout  a  coup  un  grand  danger, 
elle  se  baissa  vivement  pour  se  glisser 
par  le  passage  etroit  de  la  cachette. 
Elle  s'assit  a  demi  sur  la  pierre  la 
plus  proche,  et  elle  ecouta  toute  fre- 
missante  les  bruits  qui  pouvaient 

181 


VALSERINE 

venir  du  dehors.  Au  bout  d'un 
instant,  elle  s'apergut  qu'il  faisait 
beaucoup  plus  clair  que  d'habitude 
dans  la  "  chambre  du  gardien." 
Des  quartiers  de  roche  qu'elle  avait 
touj  ours  crus  noirs  lui  apparaissaient 
maintenant  de  la  meme  couleur  que 
les  autres.  Elle  leva  les  yeux  avec 
curiosite,  et  elle  resta  toute  boule- 
versee,  en  apercevant  un  grand 
morceau  de  ciel  au-dessus  de  sa  tete. 
Elle  fut  tout  de  suite  debout  pour 
mieux  voir,  et  elle  reconnut  que  la 
fissure  par  laquelle  le  douanier  avait 
autrefois  laisse  glisser  sa  baguette, 
s'etait  considerablement  agrandie. 
Les  deux  enormes  pierres  qui  for- 
maient  la  voute  s'ecartaient  large- 
ment  par  un  bout,  tandis  qu'elles  se 
rapprochaient  maintenant  par  1'autre, 
au  point  de  se  toucher.  Et  lorsque 
la  fillette  abaissa  son  regard  sur  la 
longue  bande  de  jour,  qui  descendait 
dans  la  cachette,  comme  une  6toffe 
claire,  elle  vit  que  du  sable  glissait 
par  Touverture,  et  se  repandait  sur 
le  sol  en  un  tas  qui  s'evasait  et 
182 


VAI^SERINE 


recouvrait  deja  une  grande  surface. 
Valserine  ne  savait  que  penser  de 
tout  cela,  lorsqu'elle  entendit  la  voix 
de  Mme  Remy,  1'appeler  de  nouveau  ; 
elle  fit  un  mouvement  pour  sortir, 
mais  la  meme  crainte  mysterieuse 
que  tout  a  1'heure  la  fit  reculer  de 
Touverture. 

La  voix  de  Mme  Remy  avait 
d'abord  marque  de  la  colere  ;  mais 
quand  elle  devint  angoissee  et  pleine 
de  desespoir,  Valserine  se  boucha  les 
oreilles  pour  ne  pas  1'entendre.  Le 
silence  revint  avec  la  nuit. 

La  longue  bande  de  jour  etait  re- 
montee  peu  a  peu  par  1'ouverture. 

Valserine  attendit  encore  long- 
temps  dans  Tobscurite. 

Des  petites  chutes  de  sable,  venant 
d'en  haut,  la  faisaient  sursauter  de 
temps  en  temps.  Puis  elle  crut  en- 
tendre les  pas  de  son  pere,  dans  le 
sentier  le  plus  proche  ;  elle  pensa 
qu'il  pouvait  rentrer  a  la  maison, 
sans  se  douter  que  sa  fille  1'attendait 
dans  la  "  chambre  du  gardien,"  et 
elle  sort  it  sans  bruit. 

183 


VALSERINB 


Dehors,  rien  ne  bougeait.  Une 
fraicheur  montait  de  la  terre,  toute 
couverte  de  hautes  herbes  et  de  mille 
fleurs.  Valserine  glissait  sur  les 
grosses  pierres,  pleines  de  mousse, 
qui  entouraient  la  cachette  ;  elle  se 
retenait  aux  arbres,  tout  minces  et 
tordus,  qui  sortaient  du  creux  des 
pierres,  et  quand  elle  arriva  devant 
sa  maison,  elle  poussa  la  porte  en 
appelant  tout  bas  : 

"  Papa." 

Elle  haussa  un  peu  la  voix,  pour 
appeler  encore  : 

"  Papa." 

Elle  comprit  qu'il  n'y  avait  per- 
sonne  dans  la  maison  et  qu'elle  se 
trompait  en  croyant  voir  le  prisonnier 
etendu  sur  son  lit ;  mais  elle  etait  si 
sure  qu'il  allait  rentrer  dans  un  in- 
stant, qu'elle  repoussa  simplement 
la  porte,  sans  la  fermer  a  clef.  Elle 
se  dirigea  a  tatons  jusqu'a  son  petit 
lit,  et  avant  de  s'etendre  dessus,  elle 
ne  put  s'empecher  de  toucher  celui 
de  son  pere  dans  toute  sa  longueur. 

Elle  ne  voulait  pas  s'endormir. 
184 


VALSERINE 


Elle  fit  de  grands  efforts  pour  ne  pas 
laisser  se  fermer  ses  paupieres. 

Cependant,  elle  fut  reveillee  par 
des  cris.  Elle  ne  fut  pas  longue  a 
comprendre  que  c'etait  elle-meme  qui 
les  avait  pousses.  Sa  gorge  ne 
laissait  plus  echapper  de  sons,  mais 
sa  respiration  etait  courte  et  rude, 
et  elle  sentait  bien  qu'il  lui  sufnrait 
de  faire  un  tout  petit  effort  pour 
entendre  de  nouveau  les  memes  cris 
cris  sourds  et  pleins  d'angoisse.  Elle 
avanca  encore  les  mains  vers  le  lit 
de  son  pere ;  mais  maintenant  elle 
savait  tres  bien  qu'il  etait  vide ; 
elle  le  touchait  seulement  pour  etre 
moins  seule,  et  parce  qu'il  lui  sem- 
blait  qu'un  ami  lui  donnait  la  main. 
Elle  ne  se  souvenait  pas  d'avoir 
jamais  vu  la  nuit  aussi  noire  et, 
chaque  fois  qu'elle  voulait  fermer 
les  yeux,  une  inquietude  les  lui 
faisait  rouvrir.  Puis  un  bourdonne- 
ment  ronfla  dans  ses  oreilles,  avec  un 
petit  sifflement.  Elle  se  souleva  pour 
mieux  ecouter,  et  il  lui  sembla  que 
ce  bruit  emplissait  toute  la  chambre. 

185 


VALSERINE 


Elle  imagina  qu'une  araignee  tissait 
une  immense  toile  autour  de  son  lit, 
et  elle  en  ressentit  une  oppression 
qui  Tobligea  a  respirer  longuement. 
Et,  tout  a  coup,  elle  entendit  battre 
son  coeur.  Elle  en  ecouta  les  coups 
un  instant,  et  elle  dit  tout  haut : 
"  Comme  il  fait  du  bruit !  " 
Aussitot,  elle  trouva  que  sa  voix 
avait  resonne  comme  une  voix 
etrangere ;  tout  son  petit  corps  se 
resserra,  et  son  cceur  cogna  plus 
sourdement. 

Quand  il  se  fut  apaise,  elles'apercut 
que  le  vieux  coucou,  pendu  au  mur, 
ne  faisait  plus  entendre  son  tic-tac. 
Son  trouble  en  augmenta,  et,  pour 
se  rassurer,  elle  chercha  a  distinguer 
sa  place  dans  I'obscurite.  Elle  avait 
envie  de  lui  parler,  comme  a  une 
personne  amie  qui  boude.  Elle 
avait  envie  d'aller  tirer  ses  chaines  ; 
mais  elle  n'osait  faire  le  plus  petit 
mouvement,  de  peur  de  heurter  la 
chose  inconnue  et  pleine  de  menace, 
qui  bruissait  toujours  a  ses  oreilles. 
Alors,  elle  resta  sans  bouger,  les  yeux 
186 


VAI^ERINE 


grands  ou verts  dans  la  nuit.  Cepen- 
dant  le  jour  arriva.  Valserine  vit 
qu'il  essayait  d'entrer  dans  la  maison, 
en  passant  sous  la  porte,  et  par  les 
fentes  des  centre  vents.  Elle  le  vit 
se  glisser,  peu  a  peu,  vers  la  petite 
glace  accrochee  pres  de  la  fenetre, 
puis  le  long  des  poutres  noires  du 
plafond,  et  enfin  se  fixer  dans  tous 
les  coins  de  la  chambre. 

Maintenant  qu'il  eclairait  les 
chiffres  jaunis  du  vieux  coucou,  Val- 
serine se  leva  tres  vite,  pour  aller 
toucher  du  doigt  le  balancier,  et,  des 
le  premier  tic-tac,  le  bruissement  qui 
1'avait  tant  effrayee  cessa,  et  il  lui 
sembla  que  rien  n'etait  change  dans 
la  maison.  Cependant,  elle  visita  la 
piece,  comme  si  elle  esperait  y  de- 
couvrir  une  bete  etrange. 

Elle  passa  soigneusement  le  balai 
sous  chaque  meuble,  et  enleva  les 
plus  petites  toiles  d'araignee,  qui 
s'etaient  formees  pendant  son 
absence. 

Un  battement  d'ailes  et  deux 
petits  coups  frappes  aux  contrevents, 

187 


VALSERINE 


lui  firent  oublier  les  bruits  mysterieux 
de  la  nuit.  Cetait  la  tourterelle  qui 
venait  chercher  une  caresse,  comme 
autrefois.  Valserine  ouvrit  la  fene- 
tre  toute  grande,  et  1'oiseau  se  posa 
sur  le  rebord  en  saluant  et  roucou- 
lant,  comme  s'il  avait  mille  et  mille 
choses  a  dire.  Mais  quand  la  fillette 
etendit  la  main  pour  le  caresser,  il 
battit  precipitamment  des  ailes  et 
s'envola  au  loin. 

Valserine  le  suivit  des  yeux,  sans 
oser  le  rappeler,  et  lorsqu'il  eut  dis- 
paru  dans  les  hautes  branches  d'un 
arbre,  elle  s'eloigna  de  la  fenetre  avec 
une  grande  envie  de  pleurer.  Ce  fut 
a  ce  moment  que  son  regard  ren- 
contra  la  petite  table  chargee  de  ses 
livres  de  classe.  Elle  se  souvint 
aussitot  du  vieux  cahier  de  devoirs 
qui  servait  au  contrebandier  les 
jours  oft  il  avait  besoin  d'etre  aide 
par  son  enfant.  Elle  le  prit  pour  en 
tourner  tres  vite  les  pages,  en  lisant 
des  mots  traces  entre  les  lignes  deja 
pleines.  II  y  avait  de  longues 
phrases  expliquant  a  la  fillette  ce 
188 


VAI^ERINE 


qu'elle  devait  faire  en  revenant  de 
1'ecole ;  mais  c'etait  surtout  des  in- 
dications precises  sur  le  chemin  que 
devait  suivre  le  contrebandier  pour 
rentier  a  la  maison. 

Valserine  s'arreta  sur  les  derniers 
mots  : 

"  Par    le    colombier,    en    bas    du 
couloir." 

C'etait  la  que  le  contrebandier 
avait  ete  pris  par  les  douaniers. 
Elle  revit  son  pere  tombant  dans 
1'etroit  couloir,  que  les  bucherons 
avaient  forme  du  haut  en  bas  de  la 
montagne  pour  faire  glisser  les  arbres 
coupes.  Elle  le  revit,  essayant  de 
se  relever  a  moitie  de  la  pente,  et  re- 
tombant,  le  front  en  avant,  contre 
les  troncs  mal  equarris.  A  present, 
il  avait  fini  sa  prison,  et  il  ne  pouvait 
tarder  a  rentrer.  Elle  essuya  brus- 
quement  ses  larmes  avec  sa  manche, 
puis  elle  prit  sa  plume,  et  au  milieu 
de  la  ligne  suivante,  elle  ecrivit : 

"  Appelle-moi." 

La    matinee    etait    peu    avancee. 
Cependant,  Valserine  reconnut,  a  la 

189 


VAI^ERINB 

couleur  du  ciel,  que  le  soleil  devait 
eclairer  deja  les  glaciers,  qui  se  trou- 
vaient  de  1'autre  cote  de  la  montagne. 
Le  versant  d'en  face  etait  encore 
plein  de  brume.  On  distinguait 
seulement  les  places  blanches  ou  la 
roche  a  pic  etait  a  nu  et  les  endroits 
encore  plus  clairs  ou,  a  chaque 
print emps,  la  fonte  des  neiges  en- 
trainait  des  eboulements. 

Valserine  s'aper£ut  pour  la  pre- 
miere fois,  qu'elle  connaissait  le  nom 
des  montagnes  voisines.  Elle  les 
nomma  avec  un  geste  de  la  main, 
comme  si  elle  les  indiquait  a  quel- 
qu'un  :  un  peu  a  droite,  le  Mont- 
Rond  ;  a  gauche,  la  Dole,  et,  presque 
en  face,  le  col  de  la  Faucille. 

Maintenant,  elle  se  sentait  tran- 
quille  autour  de  sa  maison.  Peu  a 
peu,  le  soleil  se  montra  au-dessus  du 
Mont-Rond,  et  la  brume  qui  re- 
couvrait  la  vallee,  s'enleva  pour 
laisser  voir  les  maisons  blanches  du 
village  de  Mijoux,  ou  se  trouve  la 
douane.  Elle  reconnaissait  facile- 
ment,  parmi  les  autres,  la  petite 
190 


VALSERINB 


maison  carree  des  douaniers.  Elle 
n'etait  jamais  passee  devant  sa 
grande  porte,  sans  en  eprouver  un 
peu  de  terreur,  depuis  qu'elle  savait 
que  son  pere  etait  contrebandier. 

La  fillette  eut  encore  une  fois  Tidee 
que  le  prisonnier  pouvait  se  trouver 
sur  un  sentier  des  environs.  Elle 
langa  de  toute  sa  force  le  cri  d'appel 
qu'il  connaissait  si  bien,  et  auquel  il 
avail  tou jours  repondu  ;  mais  ce  cri 
resta  sans  reponse,  comme  celui  de 
la  veille.  Elle  n'en  fut  pas  inquiete. 
Elle  etait  sure  que  son  pere  allait 
arriver,  et  qu'il  lirait  la  derniere 
phrase  ecrite  sur  le  cahier  ;  il  ne 
refuserait  pas  de  la  garder  aupres  de 
lui,  pendant  quelques  jours,  et  en- 
suite  elle  le  quitterait  pour  retourner 
a  la  diamanterie  de  Saint-Claude. 

La  faim  qui  commensait  a  lui 
tirailler  1'estomac,  1'obligea  d'aller 
chercher  des  provisions,  a  la  "  cham- 
bre  du  gardien."  Elle  emplit  ses 
poches  de  chocolat  et  de  gateaux 
sees,  et  elle  s'engagea  sur  la  pente 
boisee,  a  travers  les  sentiers,  qui 

191 


VAI.SERINE 


descendaient  dans  la  combe  de  Mi- 
j  oux,  pour  remonter  ensuite  au  col 
de  la  Faucille.  Elle  roda  longtemps 
sous  bois,  en  se  tenant  tout  proche 
d'un  chemin,  qui  avait  ete  autrefois 
une  route,  et  que  1'herbe  et  les  pierres 
encombraient  maintenant ;  puis  elle 
finit  par  trouver  une  eclaircie,  d'oii 
elle  pouvait  voir  toute  la  ville  de  Gex, 
ou  etait  la  prison. 

Jamais  la  plaine  du  pays  de  Gex  ne 
lui  avait  paru  aussi  grande,  et  le  lac 
de  Geneve,  qui  la  terminait,  la  faisait 
penser  a  une  etoffe  deteinte  par 
1'usure,  et  toute  dechiree  au  bord. 

II  lui  sembla  que  tout  ce  qu'elle 
voyait  ce  jour-la,  etait  different  des 
autres  fois.  La  tete  de  vieillard,  a 
longue  barbe,  qu'elle  avait  toujours 
vue  au  sommet  du  mont  Blanc, 
prenait  aujourd'hui  la  forme  d'un 
chien,  levant  son  museau,  pour 
hurler  tristement ;  et  les  barques  du 
lac,  avec  leurs  grandes  voiles  poin- 
tues,  comme  les  ailes  des  hirondelles, 
la  faisaient  penser  a  de  grands  oiseaux 
blesses,  tout  pres  de  se  noyer. 
192 


VALSERINE 


Elle  fermait  les  yeux,  pour  essayer 
de  revoir  les  choses  sous  leurs  formes 
anciennes  ;  mais  elle  n'y  parvenait 
pas.  Elle  n'en  ressentait  pas  de 
trouble ;  elle  regrettait  seulement 
que  son  pere  ne  fut  pas  la,  pour  en 
rire  avec  elle,  comme  il  avail  fait  la 
premiere  fois  qu'ils  etaient  venus 
ensemble  sur  ce  chemin,  ct  qu'elle 
avait  vu  les  choses  tout  a  Fenvers. 
C'etait  a  la  place  meme  ou  elle  se 
trouvait  en  ce  moment,  que  le  con- 
trebandier  s'etait  arrete  pour  lui  dire  : 

"  Tu  n'as  pas  de  chance.  On 
ne  voit  pas  le  lac  de  Geneve 
aujourd'hui." 

II  avait  aioute,  en  abaissant  son 
baton  vers  la  plaine  : 

"  Tiens,  il  est  sous  ce  monceau  de 
nuages  gris,  que  tu  vois  la  tout  en 
bas." 

Mais  la  Valserine  avait  aussitot 
leve  la  main  vers  le  mont  Blanc,  pour 
montrer  a  son  pere  le  lac,  qui  s'etalait 
tres  large  et  tres  bleu,  entre  deux 
nuages  roses,  au-dessus  des  glaciers. 

II  lui  etait  arrive  une  autre  fois,  de 
o  193 


VAIvSERINE 

voir  le  mont  Blanc  tout  en  flammes, 
mais  elle  avait  vite  compris  qu'il 
etait  seulement  eclaire  par  le 
soleil. 

Ce  matin,  la  masse  de  nuages  gris 
ne  recouvrait  plus  le  lac.  Elle 
s'elevait  lentement  en  fumee  blanche, 
vers  les  glaciers,  et  le  pays  de  Gex 
laissait  voir  toutes  ses  routes. 

Valserine  surveillait  les  plus 
proches.  Elle  trouvait  que  les  gens 
mettaient  beaucoup  plus  de  temps 
qu'il  n'en  fallait  pour  aller  d'un 
endroit  a  un  autre.  Us  avaient  Fair 
de  sauter  sur  place,  plutot  que  de 
marcher,  et  le  moindre  de  leurs 
gestes  lui  paraissait  plein  de  signi- 
fication. 

Quand  le  soir  revint,  Valserine  se 
decida  a  reprendre  le  chemin  de  la 
maison. 

Le  soleil  se  couchait  du  cote  de 
Septmoncel,  et  la  fillette  ne  put 
s'empecher  de  frissonner  en  le  voyant 
si  rouge.  II  passa  entre  des  nuages 
longs,  comme  des  arbres  coupes,  sur 
lesquels  il  laissa  des  taches,  et  il 
194 


VAIvSERINE 

entra  dans  un  gros  image  sombre, 
qui  semblait  1'attendre.  Valserine 
crut  qu'il  etait  couche,  mais  presque 
aussitot,  il  separa  le  image  en  deux, 
comme  s'il  voulait  encore  une  fois 
regarder  la  fillette,  puis  il  se  montra, 
arrondi  seulement  par  le  haut,  comme 
la  porte  de  la  maison  des  douaniers 
de  Mijoux,  et  apres  avoir  tache  de 
rouge  tout  ce  qui  1'entourait,  il  dis- 
parut  de  1'autre  cote  de  la  montagne. 
Pendant  ce  temps,  un  oiseau  voletait 
d'un  arbre  a  1'autre,  en  faisant  en- 
tendre un  bruit  semblable  a  celui 
que  font  les  ciseaux  qu'on  ouvre  et 
qu'on  ferme,  sans  rien  couper. 

"  Tsic,  tsic  .  .  .  Tsic." 

La  nuit  tombait  lentement,  et 
Valserine,  qui  n'avait  jamais  eu  peur 
dans  le  bois,  se  retournait  souvent, 
pour  regarder  derriere  elle. 

De  temps  en  temps,  elle  lancait  son 
cri  d'appel,  qui  restait  toujours  sans 
reponse. 

Le  chemin  qu'elle  suivait  la  fit 
passer  pres  de  la  maison  de  la  mere 
Marienne. 


VALSERINE 


Valserine  connaissait  depuis  long- 
temps  la  mere  Marienne.  Chaque 
fois  que  son  fils  etait  en  prison,  la 
vieille  femme  apportait  ses  ceufs  et 
ses  chevrets  au  pere  de  la  fillette, 
qui  se  chargeait  d'aller  les  vendre  a 
Saint-Claude  ou  a  Septmoncel.  Elle 
connaissait  aussi  sa  haine  pour  les 
douaniers.  Elle  1'avait  vue  plusieurs 
fois  leur  jeter  des  pierres,  du  haut  du 
chemin,  et  elle  n'osait  jamais  s'ap- 
procher  d'elle,  a  cause  de  ses  yeux, 
qui  paraissaient  toujours  inquiets  et 
pleins  de  soupcons. 

Pourtant,  ce  soir,  elle  avait  une 
grande  en  vie  d'entrer,  pour  lui  parler 
de  son  pere.  Ce  matin  meme,  elle 
avait  reconnu  le  fils  de  la  vieille 
femme,  au  moment  ou  il  traversait 
la  route,  pour  se  rendre  a  Gex  ;  il 
devait  etre  de  retour  maintenant,  et 
savait  sans  doute  ou  se  trouvait  le 
prisonnier.  Elle  se  decida  a  pousser 
la  porte,  apres  avoir  fait  le  tour  de  la 
maison. 

La  mere  Marienne  etait  debout, 
devant  une  table  plus  longue  que 
196 


large,  et  la  lampe,  qui  se  trouvait 
sur  le  coin  du  buffet,  eclairait  un  de 
ses  poings,  qu'elle  tendait  devant  elle, 
comme  si  elle  s'appretait  a  frapper 
quelqu'un.  Elle  laissa  retomber  son 
bras,  en  reconnaissant  Valserine,  et 
elle  lui  dit  d'un  ton  plein  de  colere : 

"  Les  gendarmes  sont  passes  par 
ici ;  ils  te  cherchent." 

Valserine  ne  sut  pas  demeler  si 
c'etait  centre  les  gendarmes,  ou 
centre  elle,  que  la  mere  Marienne 
etait  fachee. 

Cependant,  elle  prit  du  courage,  et 
repondit : 

"  J 'attends  mon  pere." 

La  mere  Marienne  regarda  la 
fillette,  comme  si  elle  ne  comprenait 
pas. 

"  Oui,"  repondit  Valserine,  "  il  a 
fini  sa  prison,  et  il  ne  peut  tarder  a 
rentrer." 

Et  pendant  que  la  vieille  femme  la 
regardait  toujours  d'un  air  etonne,  la 
fillette  s'empressa  d'aj  outer  : 

"  Je  venais  vous  demander  si  votre 
fils  1'avait  vu." 

197 


VAXSERINE 


Les  deux  poings  fermes  de  la  mere 
Marienne  remonterent  centre  sa  ma- 
choire ;  ses  paupieres  se  mirent  a 
battre,  et  en  se  reprenant  plusieurs 
fois,  comme  si  ses  paroles  lui  faisaient 
trop  mal  a  la  gorge,  elle  cria,  en 
s'avancant  sur  Valserine  : 

"  Us  1'ont  tue  ton  pere  !  Us  1'ont 
tue  !  Ne  le  savais-tu  pas  ?  ' 

Valserine  regardait  le  visage  tout 
convulse  de  la  mere  Marienne,  et  la 
grande  terreur,  qu'elle  en  ressentait, 
Fempechait  de  bouger. 

La  vieille  femme  continuait,  avec 
une  voix  pleine  de  fureur  : 

"  Us  1'ont  tue*  comme  ils  ont  tue 
autrefois  mon  pauvre  mari !  Et  mon 
fils  est  parti  ce  matin  a  Gex,  pour  le 
voir  mettre  dans  le  cimetiere." 

Puis  elle  mit  ses  poings  sur  ses 
yeux,  comme  si  elle  voulait  s'em- 
pecher  de  regarder  une  chose  affreuse, 
et  Valserine  s'enfuit,  epouvantee. 


198 


VALSERINE 


L'ETE  venait  de  finir,  et  Valserine 
habitait,  depuis  plusieurs  semaines 
deja,  la  maison  de  la  mere  Marienne. 
Le  fils  de  la  vieille  femme  1'avait 
retrouvee  couchee  parmi  les  buis  et 
les  cyclamens  sauvages,  le  lendemain 
du  jour  ou  elle  avail  appris  la  mort 
de  son  pere.  Elle  etait  toute  raidie 
par  le  froid  et  le  chagrin,  et  ses  cris 
de  petite  fille  desolee,  semblaient  ne 
jamais  plus  pouvoir  s'arreter. 

La  mere  Marienne  en  fut  epou- 
vantee,  et  comme  si  propre  peine  eut 
du  effacer  celle  de  Valserine,  elle  se 
mit  a  lui  raconter  comment  son  mari 
avait  ete  tue  par  les  douaniers. 

"  II  s'appelait  Catherin,"  dit-elle, 
"et  il  faisait  la  contrebande  de 
Talcool.  Souvent,  il  partait  pour 
plusieurs  jours,  avec  son  cheval  et  sa 
voiture.  Les  douaniers  le  poursuivai- 
ent  de  tous  cotes,  mais  il  etait  adroit 
et  savait  les  depister.  II  etait  hardi 

199 


VAIvSERINE 


aussi,  et  quand  les  douaniers  le  me- 
nagaient,  il  leur  repondait  en  riant : 

"  'Aussi  longtemps  que  je  serai 
vivant,  je  vous  echapperai.' 

"  Mais  voila  qu'une  nuit,  ils 
imaginerent  de  fermer  les  barrieres 
d'un  passage  a  niveau,  qui  se  trouvait; 
au  fond  d'une  vallee.  L'attelage  de 
mon  mari,  lance  a  fond  de  train,  sur 
la  route  en  pente,  brisa  la  premiere 
barriere,  et  vint  s'ecraser  contre  la 
seconde ;  et  lorsque  les  douaniers 
accoururent  pour  fouiller  la  voiture, 
ils  trouverent  le  corps  de  Catherin, 
plie  en  deux  sur  la  barriere.' ' 

La  vieille  femme  se  tordit  les 
mains,  et,  d'une  voix  pleine  de  de- 
tresse,  elle  termina  en  disant : 

"  II  etait  mort  depuis  deux  jours 
quand  ils  me  Font  rapporte.  ..." 

Les  jours  passerent,  et  chacun 
d'eux  emporta  un  peu  du  chagrin 
de  la  fillette.  Maintenant,  elle  restait 
de  longs  moments  assise,  sur  le  seuil 
de  la  maison.  Elle  se  tenait  toute 
ramassee  comme  une  vieille  femme, 
mais  ses  yeux  noirs  suivaient  le 
200 


VAI.SERINB 


chemin,  qui  s'en  allait  au  pays  de 
Gex,  et  qui  se  mon trait  de  place  en 
place  a  travers  les  pins.  Elle  revoyait 
la  plaine  avec  ses  routes  et  ses 
villages,  et  sa  pensee  s'arretait  sur 
un  arbre  tout  mince,  seul  au  milieu 
d'un  pre,  et  que  le  vent  courbait 
violemment  a  chaque  instant. 

A  present,  elle  n'avait  plus  peur  de 
la  mere  Marienne.  La  vieille  femme 
lui  parlait  tantot  comme  a  une  petite 
fille,  et  tantot  comme  a  une  femme, 
et  leurs  malheurs,  si  semblables,  les 
unissaient  comme  un  lien  de  parente. 

Le  fils  de  la  mere  Marienne  partait 
chaque  semaine  a  Saint-Claude,  pour 
en  rapporter  plusieurs  douzaines  de 
pipes,  sur  lesquelles  il  taillait  des 
figures.  II  posait  sa  corbeille  sur 
une  petite  table,  qu'il  installait  de- 
hors,  pres  de  la  porte. 

Valserine  suivait  son  travail  avec 
attention,  et  la  maison  etait  pleine 
de  tranquillite. 

Un  jour,  la  mere  Marienne  vint 
s'asseoir  sur  le  seuil,  aupres  de  la 
fillette,  et  elle  lui  dit : 

201 


VALSERINE 

"  Mme  Remy  te  fait  demander  si 
tu  veux  retourner  a  la  diamanterie." 

Valserine  secoua  la  tete  pour  dire 
non ;  cependant,  elle  repondit : 
"  Oui." 

La  vieille  femme  reprit : 

'  Tu  lui  as  cause  un  grand  tour- 
ment.  Elle  avait  la  tete  perdue  ce 
soir-la,  et  Grosgoigin  ne  pouvait  pas 
la  decider  a  rentrer  a  Saint-Claude 
avec  ses  enfants." 

Valserine  baissa  son  visage  plein 
de  confusion,  et  la  mere  Marienne 
a  j  out a  : 

"  Elle  n'est  pas  fachee  contre  toi, 
et  ne  demande  qu'a  te  garder  comme 
autrefois." 

Valserine  ne  repondit  pas.  Elle 
semblait  ecouter  le  leger  claquement 
des  pipes,  que  le  fils  de  la  mere 
Marienne  rejetait  une  a  une  dans  la 
corbeille,  apres  les  avoir  tenues 
quelques  instants  dans  ses  mains ; 
puis,  brusquement,  elle  regarda  la 
vieille  femme,  pour  lui  demander  : 

"  Est-ce  que  les  fenunes  font  aussi 
des  pipes  ?  " 
202 


VALSERINE 


Les  yeux  de  la  mere  Marienne 
devinrent  brillants  comme  des  pierres 
taillees,  quand  elle  repondit : 

"  J'etais  polisseuse  de  pipes  avant 
de  me  marier." 

Et  comme  si  toute  sa  jeunesse  lui 
revenait  a  la  memoire  d'un  seul  coup, 
elle  parla  longuement.  Elle  parla 
de  la  ville  de  Saint-Claude  et  du 
quartier  de  la  Poyat,  oii  ses  parents 
avaient  ete  pipiers.  Elle  dit  com- 
ment les  polisseuses  de  pipes  entou- 
raient  leurs  cheveux  d'un  mouchoir, 
pour  les  proteger  contre  la  poussiere 
de  racine  de  bruyere,  qui  teignait  les 
cheveux  noirs,  en  une  couleur  rose 
foncee. 

Elle  nommait  les  jeunes  filles 
d'alors,  comme  si  Valserine  les  avait 
connues. 

"  Adele  port  ait  un  mouchoir  bleu. 
Agathe  en  avait  toujours  un 
jaune." 

Et  elle  s'arreta  apres  avoir  dit,  en 
relevant  la  tete  : 

"  Moi,  je  portals  un  mouchoir 
rouge." 

203 


VALSERINE 


Sa  main  toucha  celui  qui  etait  sur 
sa  tete  en  ce  moment ;  mais  elle 
1'abaissa  aussitot,  comme  s'il  lui 
avail  sufft  de  le  toucher,  pour  voir 
qu'il  etait  de  couleur  noire. 

II  y  eut  un  long  silence. 

La  mere  Manenne  semblait  re- 
garder  maintenant  au  fond  d'elle- 
meme,  et  son  fils  avait  cesse  de 
gratter  ses  pipes. 

Valserine  se  mit  debout.  Elle  re- 
poussa  des  deux  mains  les  boucles 
noires  qui  recouvraient  ses  joues,  et 
avec  un  accent  plein  de  fermete,  elle 
dit: 

"  Je  veux  etre  polisseuse  de 
pipes." 

La  vieille  femme  se  mit  debout 
aussi,  et  son  visage  etait  tout  joyeux 
quand  elle  demanda  a  la  fillette  : 

"  Tu  aimes  done  mieux  etre  polis- 
seuse que  diamantaire  ?  '; 

"  Oui,"  dit  Valserine,  "les  pipes 
sont  plus  belles  que  le  diamant." 

La  vieille  femme  prit  plusieurs 
pipes  dans  la  corbeille  de  son  fils,  et 
apres  les  avoir  fait  rouler  d'une  main 
204 


VALSERINE 


dans  1'autre,  elle  les  reposa  douce- 
ment,  en  disant : 

"  Le  diamant  ne  sert  a  rien." 

Quelques  jours  apres,  le  fils  de  la 
mere  Marienne  revint  de  Saint- 
Claude  avec  la  reponse  que  Valserine 
attendait. 

La  fillette  habiterait  chez  des 
pipiers  qui  avaient  connu  et  aime  son 
pere,  et  elle  irait  chaque  jour  a  la 
fabrique  de  pipes  au  lieu  d'aller  a  la 
diamanterie. 

La  veille  de  son  depart,  elle  voulut 
monter  jusqu'a  "  la  chambre  du  gar- 
dien,"  mais  comme  elle  se  dirigeait 
au  hasard  du  chemin,  elle  vit  tout 
a  coup  que  la  masse  de  terre  qui  sur- 
plombait  la  cachette  s'etait  eboulee. 

Une  enorme  quantite  de  sable  et 
de  cailloux  avait  glisse,  en  entrainant 
la  plupart  des  arbres  qui  se  trou- 
vaient  sur  la  pente ;  plusieurs 
etaient  a  moitie  enfouis  et  parais- 
saient  deja  morts,  tandis  que  d'autres 
se  penchaient  pour  s'appuyer  de 
toutes  leurs  branches  centre  ceux 
qui  etaient  restes  debout. 

205 


VAI^ERINE 


Valserine  se  rappela  que  la  "  cham- 
bre  du  gardien  "  avail  ete  formee  par 
un  eboulement,  et  il  lui  sembla  en- 
tendre encore  une  fois  la  voix  de  son 
pere,  quand  il  lui  avail  dit  :  "  Cette 
annee-la  il  y  eut  un  orage  si  violent 
qu'il  devasta  la  montagne  et  fit  de 
grands  degats  dans  la  ville  de  Saint- 
Claude." 

Maintenant  Valserine  pouvait  par- 
tir,  "  la  chambre  du  gardien " 
s'etait  fermee  pour  tou jours,  comme 
si  elle  voulait  garder  le  secret  du 
contrebandier. 

La  nllette  entra  dans  sa  maison,  et 
le  dernier  souvenir  qu'elle  y  avait 
laisse  lui  revint  aussitot  a  la  memoire. 
Ses  oreilles  s'emplirent  du  meme 
bruissement  qui  T  avait  tant  effrayee 
pendant  la  nuit  oii  elle  attendait  le 
retour  du  prisonnier. 

Aujourd'hui,  la  maison  etait  pleine 
de  clarte,  et  cependant  des  milliers 
de  voix  fines  et  harmonieuses  se 
croisaient  et  s'unissaient  dans  1'air. 

Et  lorsque  Valserine  les  eut  ecou- 
tees  longuement,  elle  reconnut  que 
206 


VAIvSERINE 


le  silence  avait  aussi  des  voix,  que 
Ton  pouvait  entendre  quand  on  les 
ecoutait. 

Le  lendemain,  ail  moment  ou  Val- 
serine  allait  partir  pour  Saint-Claude, 
la  mere  Marienne  la  retint  un  instant 
sur  le  seuil.  Elle  tenait  a  la  main  un 
mouchoir  noir,  qu'elle  lui  donna  en 
disant  : 

"  Prends-le.  II  te  servira  pendant 
le  temps  de  ton  deuil." 

La  fillette  eut  un  mouvement  plein 
de  vivacite  affectueuse  vers  la  mere 
Marienne,  puis  elle  mit  le  mouchoir 
dans  sa  poche  et  rejoignit  en  courant 
le  fils  de  la  vieille  femme,  qui  s'enga- 
geait  deja  dans  le  sen  tier  de  traverse. 

Tout  etait  clair  dans  la  vallee  ce 
matin-la,  et  le  vent  frais  dechirait  en 
petits  morceaux  les  nuages,  qui 
semblaient  vouloir  se  reposer  un 
instant  sur  la  montagne. 

A  1'endroit  ou  le  sentier  coupait  la 
route,  Valserine  vit  passer  le  courrier 
de  Saint-Claude  a  la  Faucille,  et  elle 
ne  put  s'empecher  d'imiter  tout  bas 
la  voix  du  conducteur : 

207 


VALSERINE 


"  Allonlonlon." 

Pen  apres,  le  sentier  longea  le 
ruisseau  du  Flumen,  et  les  voix 
d'enfants  qui  se  repondaient  a  travers 
la  montagne  n'arriverent  plus  jusqu'a 
cet  endroit  si  resserre  de  la  vallee. 

La  fillette  suivait  le  pas  allonge  du 
fils  de  la  mere  Marienne  sans  en 
ressentir  de  fatigue.  Une  joie  se 
levait  en  elle,  et  c'est  a  peine  si  elle 
entendait  le  bruit  du  ruisseau  qui 
courait  d'un  caillou  a  1'autre. 

Us  eurent  bientot  depasse  les 
villages  de  Coiserette  et  la  Renfile, 
et,  au  moment  ou  ils  allaient  entrer 
dans  Saint-Claude,  Valserine  re- 
marqua  pres  de  la  route  un  bouleau 
qui  s'etait  depouille  de  toutes  ses 
feuilles  pendant  la  nuit,  et  elle 
s'arreta  pour  regarder  le  feuillage 
qui  trainait  maintenant  a  terre  com- 
me  un  vetement  fane. 

Ils  descendirent  tres  vite  la  rue 
raboteuse  de  la  Poyat,  et  la  fillette 
entra  en  meme  temps  que  le  fils  de  la 
mere  Marienne  dans  la  fabrique  de 
pipes.  Elle  tra versa  1' atelier  ou  les 
208 


VALSERINE 


scies  filaient  des  sons  aigus  en  don- 
nant  une  forme  aux  racines  de  bru- 
vere  Elle  vit  voler  sur  elle  et  autour 

•/ 

d'elle  les  fins  copeaux  roules,  qui 
sautaient  des  etablis  pendant  que 
les  machines  a  tourner  et  a  percer 
chantaient  comme  un  essaim  de 
bourdons  dans  la  montagne. 

Elle  remarqua  les  visages  ouverts 
et  pleins  d'energie  des  ouvriers,  et 
quand  le  fils  de  la  mere  Marienne  la 
fit  entrer  dans  F  atelier  des  polisse- 
uses,  elle  regarda  sans  crainte  les 
femmes,  toutes  debout  et  tournees 
de  son  cote,  comme  si  elles  guettaient 
son  entree. 

Elle  eut  encore  le  temps  de  voir  le 
poele  en  forme  de  pipe,  qui  se  trou- 
vait  au  milieu  de  la  piece,  et  tout  de 
suite  une  ouvriere  vint  la  prendre 
pour  la  conduire  a  sa  place.  L' ouvri- 
ere marchait  devant  en  ecartant  du 
pied  les  paniers  qui  encombraient  le 
passage,  et  apres  avoir  aide  la  fillette 
a  mettre  sa  blouse  de  polisseuse,  elle 
lui  offrit  un  mouchoir  de  meme 
couleur  que  celui  qu'elle  portait. 

P  209 


VALSERINE 


Valserine  remercia  d'un  geste  plein 
de  gratitude,  elle  cut  un  sourire  qui 
eclaira  tout  son  visage  en  repoussant 
doucement  le  mouchoir  bleu,  puis 
elle  tira  de  sa  poche  celui  que  la  mere 
Marienne  lui  avait  donne  le  matin 
mcme,  et  elle  en  couvrit  aussitot  ses 
cheveux. 


210 


MfeRE  ET  FILLE 

MADAME  PELISSAND  entra 
dans  le  petit  salon  ;   elle  en 
fit   deux   fois   le   tour,    en 
tenant  dans  ses  mains  une  corbeille 
pleine  de  bas  et  de  pelotes  de  cotons 
a  repriser.     Elle  s'arreta  devant  un 
fauteuil,  comme  si  elle  allait  s'asseoir 
dedans ;    mais  elle  le  repoussa,   et 
s'assit  sur  une  chaise,  tout  pres  du 
piano. 

Aussitot,  Marie  Pelissand  cessa  de 
jouer.  Elle  savait  que  sa  mere 
n'aimait  pas  la  musique,  et  tout  en 
regrettant  de  ne  pouvoir  finir  le 
morceau  qu'elle  aimait,  elle  pivota 
sur  son  tabouret,  et  elle  se  mit  a 
feuilleter  les  brochures  qui  etaient 
sur  la  table. 

Madame  Pelissand  retint  a  deux 
mains  sa  corbeille  sur  ses  genoux  et 
elle  dit,  sans  regarder  sa  fille  : 

211 


MERE  ET  FILLE 


"  Tu  peux  jouer  encore,  Marie." 

Cette  fois,  Marie  se  retourna  pour 
regarder  sa  mere.  Son  regard  ex- 
primait  la  surprise,  et  c' etait  comme 
si  elle  eut  dit  tout  haut :  "  Mais 
qu'a-t-elle  done  ?  " 

Depuis  quelques  jours,  en  effet, 
Madame  Pelissand  n'etait  plus  la 
meme.  Autrefois,  elle  ne  serait 
jamais  entree  au  salon  pendant  que 
sa  fille  etait  au  piano.  II  en  etait 
de  meme  pour  le  metier  d'institutrice 
de  Marie.  Madame  Pelissand  le  de- 
testait  et  ne  pouvait  supporter  que 
sa  fille  y  employ  at  tout  son  temps. 
Et  voila  que,  tous  ces  jours  passes, 
elle  etait  restee  le  soir  dans  la  salle  a 
manger,  pendant  que  Marie  corri- 
geait  les  cahiers  de  ses  eleves.  Hier 
soir,  elle  s' etait  mise  aussi  pres  que 
possible  de  sa  fille,  et  plusieurs  fois 
Marie  Favait  vu  faire  un  mouvement 
de  tete  en  haut  en  ouvrant  la  bouche, 
comme  si  elle  allait  parler  :  puis, 
chaque  fois,  elle  avait  baisse  la  tete 
d'un  air  gene*. 

Marie  n'osait  se  remettre  au  piano  ; 
212 


MERE  ET  FIU,E 


mais  sa  mere  lui  repeta  du  meme 
ton  que  la  premiere  fois  : 

"  Tu  peux  jouer  encore,  Marie/' 

Marie  reprit  sa  place  sur  le  ta- 
bouret, mais  ses  doigts  n'avaient 
plus  autant  de  surete,  et  son  morceau 
favori  la  laissait  indifferente.  Elle 
regardait  sa  mere  a  la  derobee. 
Madame  Pelissand  fixait  profonde- 
ment  le  tapis,  et  ses  mains  avaient 
Fair  de  se  cramponner  a  la  corbeille 
de  vieux  bas. 

A  un  moment,  Marie  la  vit  si 
nettement  faire  le  mouvement  des 
gens  qui  vont  parler  qu'elle  s'arreta 
de  jouer  pour  demander  : 

'  Voyons,  maman,  qu'as-tu  ?  " 

Les  yeux  de  Madame  Pelissand 
chavirerent.  Elle  Ian9a  les  mains  en 
avant  comme  pour  repousser  la  ques- 
tion, elle  se  leva  de  sa  chaise  et  se 
rassit  au  meme  instant,  et,  tout  d'un 
coup,  en  regardant  sa  fille  en  face, 
elle  dit  tres  vite  : 

"  Ce  que  j'ai  ?  Je  veux  me  re- 
marier." 

Marie  crut  a  une  plaisanterie. 

213 


MERE  ET  FILLE 


Elle  se  mit  a  rire  en  se  renversant  en 
arriere :  mais  Madame  Pelissand  la 
saisit  par  le  bras,  en  disant  d'une 
voix  reche : 

"  Je  ne  vois  pas  qu'il  y  ait  de  quoi 
rire." 

Marie  s'arreta  de  rire  comme  elle 
s'etait  arretee  de  jouer.  Elle  com- 
prit  que  sa  mere  disait  vrai,  et  une 
grande  stupeur  tomba  sur  elle. 
Elle  regarda  encore  sa  mere.  Elle 
vit  ses  cheveux  blancs  qui  essayaient 
de  bouffer  aux  tempes  ;  elle  vit  son 
visage  bourn,  ses  epaules  affaissees, 
et  ses  mains  decharnees ;  et  elle  ne 
put  s'empecher  de  dire  : 

"  Mais,  maman,  tu  as  cinquante- 
huit  ans." 

"Oui,"  dit  Madame  Pelissand. 
"  Et  apres  ?  " 

Apres  ?  Apres  ?  Marie  ne  savait 
plus  quoi  dire  ;  des  larmes  vinrent 
a  ses  yeux  :  pourtant  elle  dit  en- 
core : 

"  Et  moi,  maman  ?  " 

Madame  Pelissand  recula  un  peu 
sa  chaise  ;  son  regard  se  fit  dur  :  et, 
214 


MERE  ET  FILI,E 


comme    si    elle    se    vengeait    d'une 
mechancete,  elle  repondit : 

"  Toi,  ma  chere  ?  Mais  tu  es 
assez  vieille  pour  r ester  seule." 

Elle  tapota  les  bas  de  la  corbeille 
en  ajoutant : 

'  Tu  me  reprochais  mes  cinquante- 
huit  ans,  tout  a  1'heure,  et  tu  as  1'air 
d'oublier  que  tu  en  as  trente-sept 
sonnes." 

"  Je  ne  1'oublie  pas/'  dit  Marie. 
"  Mais  .  .  ." 

"  Mais  quoi  ?  "  demanda  Madame 
Pelissand. 

'  Je  pense  seulement,"  repondit 
Marie,  "  que  tu  m'as  toujours  em- 
pechee  de  me  marier,  parce  que  tu 
ne  voulais  pas  rester  seule,  et,  au- 
jourd'hui,  c'est  toi  qui  vas  me 
quitter." 

Madame  Pelissand  resta  silenci- 
euse,  et  Marie  n'osait  dire  tout  ce  qui 
lui  montait  du  coeur.  Apres  un 
long  silence,  Madame  Pelissand 
reprit : 

"  J'epouse  M.  Tardi.  Tu  sais  bien, 
ce  jeune  homme,  qui  m'avait  de- 

215 


MERE  ET 


mandee  en  mariage  quand  il  avait 
vingt  ans,  et  que  mes  parents  ont 
trouve  trop  jeune." 

Marie  fit  un  signe  de  tete  pour  dire 
qu'elle  se  rappelait  1'histoire  que  lui 
avait  racontee  sa  mere. 

"  Eh  bien  !  "  continua  Madame 
Pelissand,  "  il  s'etait  marie  aussi  de 
son  cote,  mais  il  n' avait  pas  cesse  de 
m'aimer.  II  est  veuf  depuis  trois 
mois  et  il  est  venu  me  redemander 
en  mariage  il  y  a  huit  jours.  .  .  ." 

Elle  ajouta  apres  une  pause  : 

"  II  habite  une  grande  ville  du 
Midi,  et  j'irai  vivre  la-bas  avec  lui." 

Marie  releva  la  tete,  qu'elle  tenait 
un  peu  penchee,  et  elle  dit  grave- 
ment : 

"  Ce  n'est  parce  que  ce  monsieur 
te  demande  en  mariage  que  tu  es 
forcee  de  1'epouser." 

Madame  Pelissand  fit  un  geste 
vague  de  la  main,  et  Marie  reprit : 

"  Chaque  fois  qu'un  jeune  homme 
est  venu  me  demander  en  mariage, 
tu  m'as  defendu  d'accepter.  ..." 

Madame  Pelissand  baissa  la  tete. 
216 


MERE  ET  FI3XE 


"  Et  quand  j'ai  voulu  quand  meme 
me  marier  avec  Julien,  que  j'aimais 
tant,  tu  m'en  as  empechee,  en  disant 
que  mon  devoir  etait  de  ne  pas 
t'abandonner.  Tu  m'as  dit  que  la 
mort  de  mon  pere  nous  laissait  dans 
la  misere.  Alors  je  me  suis  mise  au 
travail,  et  j'ai  refuse  le  bonheur  et, 
maintenant,  je  sais  que  mon  Julien 
s'est  lasse  et  en  a  epouse  une  autre ; 
et,  aujourd'hui  tu  m'apprends  que 
tu  vas  me  quitter  pour  epouser  un 
homme  que  tu  n'as  jamais  aime  et 
qui  t'est  reste  etranger  depuis  tant 
et  tant  d'annees." 

Madame  Pelissand  avait  la  tete  si 
basse  que  son  front  touchait  presque 
sa  poitrine  :  on  ne  voyait  plus  que  sa 
nuque,  ou  la  chair  se  separait  et 
formait  comme  deux  cordes. 

Marie  se  tut  en  attendant  un  mot 
de  sa  mere.  Mais  Madame  Pelis- 
sand restait  le  front  courbe  et  Tair 
tetu.  Alors  Marie  continua  : 

"  Moi,  j'ai  fait  mon  devoir  en  rest- 
ant  avec  toi.  Feras-tu  le  tien  en 
refusant  ce  mariage  pour  ne  pas  me 

217 


MERE  ET  FILLE 


laisser     seule  ?      Voyons,     maman, 
parle,  qu'as-tu  a  repondre/' 

Madame  Pelissand  se  redressa  un 
peu  en  repondant : 

'  Je  me  marierai,  parce  que  je  ne 
veux  plus  rester  avec  toi." 

Marie  demanda,  en  avancant  son 
visage  pres  de  celui  de  sa  mere  : 

"  Pourquoi  ?     Qu'as-tu  a  me  re- 
procher  ?  '' 

"  Beaucoup  de  choses." 

"  Dis-les,  maman." 
'  Tu  es  plus  intelligente  et  plus 
savante  que  moi."  (Marie  ouvrit 
de  grands  yeux.)  "  Tu  restes  des 
heures  a  rever  a  des  choses  que  tu 
ne  dis  pas,  et  quand  nos  amis  vein- 
nent  nous  voir,  tu  paries  toujours 
avec  les  hommes,  et  je  ne  comprends 
rien  a  ce  que  vous  dites.  Cest  toi 
qui  choisis  mes  livres,  et  si  je  veux 
lire  les  tiens,  ils  parlent  de  choses  qui 
me  sont  inconnues.  C'est  toi  qui 
decides  de  la  couleur  de  mes  robes 
et  de  la  forme  de  mes  chapeaux. 
C'est  toi  qui  gagnes  1'argent  qui  me 
fait  vivre,  et  si  je  commande  notre 
218 


MERE  ET  FILLE 


domestique,  elle  n'obeit  qu'apres 
avoir  pris  ton  avis. 

'  Tout  est  change  ici.  C'est  toi 
qui  es  devenue  la  mere  et  moi  la 
petite  fille.  J'ai  peur  d'etre  grondee 
quand  je  parle  :  et,  quoique  tu  sois 
douce  et  bonne,  je  crains  ton  regard 
sur  moi." 

Un  long  silence  se  fit.  Marie 
songeait,  une  main  sur  les  touches 
du  piano. 

Madame  Pelissand  se  mit  a 
pleurer  tout  has,  puis  elle  dit  timide- 
ment  a  sa  fille  : 

"  Permets-moi  d'epouser  M. 
Tardi." 

Alors  Marie  se  leva  du  tabouret 
pour  se  pencher  sur  sa  mere,  et, 
apres  lui  avoir  essuye  les  yeux,  elle 
I'embrassa  tendrement  au  front  en 
disant : 

"  Spouse  M.  Tardi,  afin  que,  de 
nous  deux,  il  y  en  ait  au  moins  une 
qui  ait  un  peu  de  bonheur." 


219 


LE  CHALAND  DE  LA 
REINE 

LE  matin  meme,  sa  tante  Maria 
1'avait  battu  en  lui  defen- 
dant d'aller  au  bord  du 
fleuve.  Elle  disait  tout  en  colere  : 

"  Vous  verrez  que  ce  mauvais 
gar9on  finira  par  se  noyer  comme  son 
pere." 

Aussitot  qu'elle  n'apercevait  plus 
1' enfant,  on  1'entendait  crier  d'une 
voix  percante  : 

"Michel!    Michel!" 

Toute  la  matinee,  Michel  e"tait 
reste  a  pleurer  et  a  bouder  derriere 
la  maison,  mais,  vers  le  soir,  il  s'etait 
retrouv6  sur  le  chemin  de  halage, 
sans  savoir  comment  cela  s'etait  fait. 

II  ne  se  lassait  pas  de  voir  passer 
les  chalands  qui  remontaient  ou 
descendaient  le  fleuve.  En  les 
220 


CHAIvAND   DE  LA   RHINE 


voyant  si  lourds  et  si  clos,  il  cherchait 
a  deviner  ce  qu'ils  pouvaient  bien 
porter.  Celui-ce,  qui  etait  gris,  de- 
vait  porter  de  la  pierre  ;  cet  autre, 
tout  noir,  portait  surement  du  fer, 
et  ceux  qui  descendaient  sans  bruit 
au  nl  de  1'eau  lui  paraissaient  porter 
des  nouvelles  tres  secretes. 

II  les  suivait  quelquefois  tres  loin 
et  les  mariniers  lui  parlaient  du  milieu 
du  fleuve.  Ils  voyaient  bien  qu'il  ne 
ressemblait  pas  aux  enfants  du  pays 
et  lui  ne  manquait  jamais  de  dire 
qu'il  etait  de  Paris,  et  que  sa  maison 
etait  aupres  du  canal  Saint-Martin. 

II  pensait  sans  cesse  a  ce  canal  de 
Paris,  oii  il  avait  etc  si  heureux  avec 
son  pere,  qui  etait  employe  au  de- 
chargement  des  bateaux. 

II  se  souvenait  des  bonnes  parties 
qu'il  avait  faites  avec  ses  camarades 
dans  les  tas  de  sable  que  les  chalands 
vidaient  sur  la  berge. 

Parfois  c'  etait  de  la  brique  qu'un 
bateau  apportait  :  alors  il  s'amusait 
a  construire  des  maisons,  qui  s'ecrou- 
laient  des  qu'un  camion  passait. 

221 


CHAI.AND  DE  IvA  REINE 


Mais  ce  qui  lui  plaisait  le  plus, 
c'etaient  les  poteries  qu'on  de- 
chargeait  avec  soin  ;  ces  jours-la,  il 
n'avait  pas  en  vie  de  jouer,  il  restait 
a  regarder  les  belles  cruches  a  deux 
anses,  les  petits  pots  bleus  et  les 
tasses  a  fleur,  qui  etaient  si  jolies, 
qu'on  avail  toujours  en  vie  d'en  em- 
porter  une  sous  son  tablier  ;  puis, 
quand  le  pere  avait  fini  sa  journee, 
ils  rentraient  tous  deux  dans  la 
chambre  du  sixieme,  d'ou  Ton 
voyait  encore  le  canal  ;  ils  dinaient 
sur  une  petite  table,  pres  de  la 
fenetre  ;  lui  racontait  ce  qu'il 
avait  fait  a  1'ecole,  et  le  pere  1'en- 
courageait. 

II  n'y  avait  pas  bien  longtemps 
qu'il  ne  reclamait  plus  d'histoire 
avant  de  se  coucher.  C'etait  tou- 
jours des  histoires  de  marinier  que 
son  pere  lui  contait.  II  y  en  avait 
surtout  une  qu'il  aimait  beaucoup 
et  qui  commengait  comme  9a  :  "II 
y  avait  une  fois  un  marinier,  qui 
avait  un  chaland  si  joli,  si  joli,  que 
toutes  les  dames  et  les  demoiselles 
222 


CHALAND  DE  LA  REINE 


venaient  a  1'ecluse  pour  le  voir 
passer." 

II  la  regrettait,  cette  ecluse  Saint- 
Martin.  II  la  revoyait  avec  sa  pas- 
serelle  ou  les  gens  passaient  a  la 
queue  leu-leu  ;  il  revoyait  aussi  le 
grand  bassin  ou  les  chalands  avaient 
Tair  de  s'ennuyer  comme  s'ils  etaient 
en  penitence,  et  les  maisons  qui  se 
miraient  tout  entieres  dans  le  canal 
et  qu'on  voyait  tout  a  Tenvers. 

II  y  avait  aussi  la  grande  usine 
d'en  face,  qui  deversait  tant  d'eau 
chaude  dans  le  canal  que  tout  le 
bassin  fumait,  comme  si  le  feu  etait 
au  fond.  II  I'aimait  aussi,  cette 
usine  qui  avait  neuf  grandes  chemi- 
nees  ;  il  ne  pouvait  jamais  passer 
devant  sans  les  compter. 

II  y  avait  des  fois  ou  les  neuf 
cheminees  fumaient  ensemble.  Cela 
formait  un  gros  nuage  qui  se  rabat- 
tait  et  faisait  comme  un  pont  par- 
dessus  le  bassin. 

Puis  le  grand  malheur  etait  arrive. 

Un  soir,  apres  Tecole,  il  n'avait 
pas  trouve  son  pere  au  bord  du 

223 


CHALAND  DB  IvA  RHINE 


canal.  Le  patron  du  chaland  lui 
avail  dit  :  '  Va-t-en  chez  vous,  mon 
petit,  ton  pere  ne  reviendra  plus 
ici."  Et  deux  jours  apres,  la  tante 
Maria  etait  venue  le  prendre  pour 
remmener  dans  ce  pays  des  Ardennes. 
II  n'aimait  pas  sa  tante  Maria,  qui 
le  battait  pour  tout  et  pour  rien,  et 
qui  1'empechait  d'aller  voir  les  cha- 
lands  qu'il  aimait  tant.  Tous  ces 
chalands  ressemblaient  a  ceux  du 
canal  Saint-Martin  ;  seulement,  ici, 
ils  etaient  tires  par  des  chevaux, 
tandis  qu'a  Paris  c'etaient  des 
hommes  qui  les  tiraient  pour  leur 
faire  passer  Tecluse.  On  les  voyait 
toujours  atteles  par  deux  ou  par 
quatre,  Tun  derriere  Taut  re  ;  leurs 
epaules  etaient  entourees  d'une  large 
sangle  qui  ressemblait  a  un  licol,  et 
ils  tiraient  comme  des  chevaux,  en 
tendant  le  cou  et  en  faisant  de  tout 
petits  pas. 

Ici,  le  fleuve  coulait  entre  deux 
montagnes  bien  plus  hautes  que  les 
maisons  de  Paris  ;  Feau  en  etait  si 
claire  qu'elle  refletait  les  montagnes 
224 


LE  CHALAND  DE  LA  REINE 

jusqu'au  ciel.  De  1'autre  cote  du 
fleuve,  trois  grosses  roches  sortaient 
de  la  montagne.  Les  gens  du  pays 
les  appelaient  les  "  Dames  du 
Fleuve/'  Elles  n'avaient  pas  de 
tete,  mais  on  voyait  bien  tout  de 
meme  qu'elles  avaient  ete  des  dames, 
parce  que  leurs  robes  a  gros  plis 
s'etalaient  encore  j  usque  sur  le 
pre. 

Michel  etait  assis  en  face  d'elles 
depuis  un  moment,  lorsqu'il  entendit 
dans  le  lointain  un  bruit  de  joyeuses 
clochettes :  cela  venait  vers  lui 
comme  une  chanson  :  les  clochettes 
etaient  si  claires  et  si  gaies  qu'il  se 
mit  a  les  imiter  en  chantant : 

"  Tine,  tigueline,  cline,  cline, 
cline,  tigueline,  cline.  ..." 

Deux  hommes  qui  passaient  sur 
le  chemin  s'arreterent  pour  ecouter, 
et  Michel  entendit  Tun  d'eux  dire  : 
"  C'est  surement  le  chaland  de  la 
reine  qui  vient  la."  Presque  aussi- 
tot,  1'enfant  vit  venir  sur  le  chemin 
de  halage  deux  beaux  chevaux  tout 
blancs :  ils  Etaient  completement 
Q  225 


LE  CHALAND  DE  LA  REINE 

reconverts  d'un  filet  dont  les  longues 
f ranges  se  balancaient  j  usque  sous 
leur  ventre :  leurs  tetes  etaient 
chargees  de  pompons  remplis  de 
piecettes  d'or  et  d'argent,  et  ils 
marchaient  sans  fatigue,  comme  si 
cela  etait  un  amusement  de  tirer 
I'enorme  chaland  en  faisant  chanter 
les  clochettes. 

Le  gargon  qui  les  conduisait  parais- 
sait  content  et  plein  de  force  :  il 
appuyait  sa  main  sur  la  croupe  du 
cheval  de  devant,  et  son  fouet,  qu'il 
tenait  tres  droit,  etait  tout  entoure 
de  rubans  dont  les  bouts  flottaient 
au  vent. 

Le  chaland  s'approcha,  et  Michel 
pensa  qu'il  n'en  avait  jamais  vu  de 
si  beau.  II  paraissait  tout  neuf, 
avec  sa  coque  blanche  et  ses  larges 
bandes  de  couleur.  Son  nom,  "  La 
Reine,"  etait  ecrit  en  grandes  lettres, 
qui  se  repetaient  dans  1'eau  en  dan- 
sant  et  en  se  tortillant.  Tout  a  fait  a 
Tavant,  un  oiseau  chantait  dans  une 
petite  cage,  et,  au  milieu,  tout  a 
cote  d'un  carre  de  plantes  vertes  et 
226 


CHAIvAND  DE  LA  RHINE 


de  pots  de  fleurs,  Michel  apergut  la 
reine  du  chaland. 

Elle  se  tenait  assise  sur  un  joli 
siege,  sa  robe  blanche  se  relevait 
tres  haut  sur  ses  jambes,  qu'elle 
tenait  croisees  Tune  sur  Fautre,  et 
le  chien  qui  etait  couche  a  ses  pieds 
etait  de  la  meme  couleur  que  ses  bas. 

Ses  cheveux  flottants  descen- 
daient  -jusqu'a  sa  ceinture  et,  de 
chaque  cote  de  son  front,  des  noeuds 
de  rubans  se  melaient  a  des  meches, 
bouclees,  qui  retombaient  le  long  des 
joues. 

Elle  ne  ressemblait  pas  aux  autres 
filles  des  mariniers,  et,  en  la  voyant, 
on  comprenait  qu'il  lui  fallait  le 
plus  beau  bateau  du  monde. 

Aussitot  Michel  se  rappela  la  suite 
de  1'histoire  que  lui  racontait  son 
pere  :  "  Et  le  marinier  qui  avait  ce 
bateau  si  joli,  si  joli,  avait  une  fille 
si  belle,  si  belle,  que  tous  les  rois  de 
la  terre  voulaient  1'epouser." 

Michel  se  leva  quand  le  chaland 
passa  devant  lui.  Le  mouvement 
qu'il  fit  reveilla  le  chien,  qui  se 

227 


CHALAND  DE  LA  REINE 


dressa  en  aboyant,  mais  la  fille  du 
marinier  etendit  seulement  la  main 
pour  le  calmer,  et  elle  sourit  a 
Michel.  A  ce  moment,  le  soleil 
n'eclairait  plus  que  le  haut  de  la 
montagne  :  le  fleuve  etait  devenu 
plus  transparent  qu'un  miroir  ;  on 
ne  savait  plus  si  la  montagne  etait 
en  haut  ou  en  bas  ;  le  pre  se  con- 
tinuait  jusqu'au  milieu  du  fleuve,  et 
on  voyait  les  longues  herbes  trembler 
dans  1'eau.  Maintenant,  le  son  des 
clochettes  diminuait  et  le  chaland 
s'eloignait  lentement.  Le  fleuve 
paraissait  aussi  etioit  que  Tecluse 
Saint-Martin  et  on  eut  jure  que  le 
chaland  touchait  les  deux  rives. 

Michel  s'aper£ut  tout  a  coup  que 
le  chaland  allait  disparaitre  au  tour- 
nant  du  fleuve.  II  eut  regret  de  ne 
pas  1'  avoir  suivi,  comme  il  1'avait 
souvent  fait  pour  d'autres  bateaux. 
Pour  le  voir  plus  longtemps,  il  se 
rapprocha  davantage  du  bord  ;  il 
quitta  le  chemin  de  halage  pour 
marcher  sur  le  pre  qu'on  voyait 
sous  1'eau,  mais  au  premier  pas  qu'il 
228 


CHALAND  DE  LA  REINE 


fit,  le  pre  disparut  et  ce  fut  le  fleuve 
qui  s'ouvrit  jusqu'au  fond. 

Quelques  minutes  apres,  la  voix 
criarde  de  la  tante  Maria  appelait  : 
"  Michel  !  Michel  !  "  Mais  per- 
sonne  ne  repondit,  et  comme  elle 
pretait  I'oreille  aux  bruits  du  soir, 
elle  entendit  au  loin  un  son  de 
clochettes  si  clair  qu'on  eut  dit 
qu'elles  sonnaient  dans  1'eau  et, 
malgre  Tinquietude  qui  la  gagnait, 
elle  ne  put  s'empecher  de  dire  tout 
bas  :  "  Tine,  tine,  tigueline,  tine, 
tine/* 


229 


AU  FEU! 

LE  premier  cri   partit    du   troi- 
sieme  etage.     Cetait  un   cri 
sourd    et    voile,    comme    si 
I'homme  qui  le  poussait  cut  ete  a 
moitie  etrangle. 

Tous  les  locataires  de  la  maison 
devaient  Tavoir  entendu ;  cepen- 
dant,  personne  ne  bougea :  on  eut 
dit  que  les  gens  attendaient  un  autre 
avertissement.  II  vint,  un  peu  plus 
clair,  au  bout  d'un  assez  long  moment, 
et  il  fut  suivi,  presque  tout  de  suite, 
d'un  troisieme,  plein  de  force. 

Aussitot  toute  la  maison  fut 
comme  secoue"e ;  les  fenetres  et  les 
portes  se  mirent  a  battre.  On  en- 
tendit  des  cris  de  femmes  et  des 
jurons  d'hommes,  et  bientot  Tescalier 
trembla  sous  une  de"gringolade  pre- 
cipitee  et  continue. 
230 


AU  FEU  I 

La  voix  qui  avait  pousse  le  premier 
cri  etait  maintenant  eclatante  comme 
un  instrument  de  cuivre ;  elle  en- 
trait  par  les  portes,  sortait  par  les 
fenetres,  et  s'en  allait  dans  la  nuit 
porter,  a  travers  les  vitres  des 
maisons  voisines,  son  cri  d'alarme  : 
"  Au  feu  !  Au  feu  !  " 

Les  cinq  locataires  de  sixieme 
etage  furent  les  derniers  a  ouvrir  leur 
porte.  Us  n'eurent  pas  besoin  de 
s'interroger :  la  fenetre  du  palier 
leur  montra  tout  de  suite  que  c'etait 
la  scierie  du  fond  de  la  cour  qui 
brulait.  D'enormes  piles  de  plan- 
ches s'allumaient  de  tous  cotes,  et 
le  vent  poussait  les  flammes  et  les 
faisait  buter  centre  la  maison.  II 
fallait  descendre  au  plus  vite,  car  les 
fenetres  de  1'escalier  laissaient  deja 
entrer  une  grande  chaleur  et  beau- 
coup  de  fumee. 

L'artiste  peintre  n'en  finissait  pas 
de  mettre  la  deuxieme  manche  de  sa 
veste ;  son  bras  glissait  sans  cesse 
le  long  de  la  doublure  sans  rencontrer 
1'ouverture.  II  se  tourna  vers  sa 

231 


AU  FEU! 

voisine,  1'employee  des  postes,  et  il 
dit  d'un  ton  de  connaisseur  :  "  $a 
flambe  admirablement !  "  L' em- 
ployee des  postes  ne  1'ecoutait  pas ; 
elle  rentrait  et  sortait,  pieds  nus,  en 
chemise  de  nuit,  et  elle  repetait : 
"  Je  ne  peux  pourtant  pas  descendre 
sans  etre  habillee  correctement." 

A  1'autre  bout  du  couloir,  Fran- 
cette,  1'entretenue,  courait  apres  sa 
chatte  qu'elle  ne  voulait  pas  aban- 
donner ;  elle  derangeait  les  chaises 
avec  bruit  en  appelant  d'une  petite 
voix  :  "  Minet !  Minet !  Minet  !  " 
Elle  sortit  enfin  avec  sa  chatte  dans 
ses  bras,  ses  jambes  nues  dans  des 
bottines  jaunes,  qu'elle  n'avait  pas 
pris  le  temps  de  boutonner,  et  sur  ses 
epaules  une  couverture  blanche  qui 
trainait  derriere  elle  comme  un  man- 
teau  de  reine.  Elle  passa  devant  la 
couturiere  en  train  de  fermer  sa 
porte  a  double  tour  comme  pour 
empecher  le  feu  d'y  entrer. 

II  n'y  avait  plus  que  la  petite 
tuberculeuse  qui  tournait  sans  bruit 
dans  sa  chambre.  Elle  n'avait  sur 
232 


AU  FEU! 

elle  qu'un  petit  jupon  noir  et  un 
collet  qui  ne  joignait  pas  devant. 
La  couturiere  la  pressait  de  descen- 
dre,  mais  elle  s'entetait  et  resistait : 
"  Je  veux  ma  lettre  !  ''  disait-elle. 
'  J'ai  une  lettre  et  je  ne  veux  pas 
m'en  aller  sans  elle !  "  Elle  la 
trouva  sur  une  chaise,  pres  du  lit, 
malgre  1'obscurite  que  la  fumee  com- 
mengait  a  faire  dans  la  chambre,  puis 
elle  descendit  aussi  vite  que  cela  lui 
fut  possible  en  se  cachant  la  bouche 
avec  sa  lettre.  La  couturiere  la 
suivait  en  retenant  sa  respiration  et 
fermant  a  demi  les  yeux  que  la  fumee 
piquait  et  brulait. 

En  bas,  elles  retrouverent  Fran- 
cette,  Fentretenue,  1'artiste  peintre 
et  1'employee  des  postes,  qui  eurent 
la  meme  respiration  bruyante  en  les 
apercevant. 

La  foule  s'amassait  avec  rapidite, 
on  ne  savait  pas  d'ou  elle  pouvait 
venir  a  cette  heure  de  nuit.  Les 
gens  avaient  1'air  d'avoir  ete  simple- 
ment  deranges  dans  leur  promenade 
d'apres-diner,  et  Ton  voyait,  comme 

233 


AU  FEU! 

en  plein  jour,  des  couples  de  jeunes 
gens,  des  vieux  messieurs  tout  seuls 
et  des  femmes  avec  leur  enfant  sur 
le  bras.  La  voix  qui  avait  tant  crie 
au  feu  sortit  tout  a  coup  du  couloir 
pour  demander  si  on  avait  appele 
les  pompiers.  Personne  ne  repondit. 
Alors  il  se  fit  un  grand  mouvement 
dans  la  foule,  comme  si  les  gens 
s'ecartaient  pour  laisser  passer  quel- 
qu'un  de  tres  presse  et,  peu  de  temps 
apres,  on  entendit  la  chanson  des 
pompes  a  incendie.  Deux  notes 
seulement,  mais  si  rapprochees  et 
repetees  avec  tant  d'insistance,  que 
cela  faisait  penser  a  un  air  tres  varie 
dont  la  foule  connaissait  les  paroles. 
On  entendait  de  tous  cotes  : 

"  Les  voila  deja  !  '' 

"  Us  ont  1'echelle  de  sauvetage  !  " 

"  Voyez  comme  leurs  casques  sont 
brillants  !  '' 

Cependant  de  gros  tuyaux  souples 
se  deroulaient  et  s'allongeaient  vers 
les  prises  d'eau,  pendant  que  Techelle 
glissait  de  son  chariot  pour  venir 
s'appuyer  centre  le  balcon  du 
234 


AU   FEU! 

deuxieme  etage.  Le  couloir  de  la 
maison  apparaissait  noir  comme 
1' entree  d'une  caverne.  Les  pom- 
piers y  penetraient  graves  et  atten- 
tifs,  avec  une  torche  allumee  au 
poing,  et  a  les  voir  ainsi  on  pensait 
a  des  hommes  devoues  et  resolus, 
s'en  allant  attaquer  un  monstre  pour 
sauver  leurs  freres. 

Comme  si  le  feu  les  eut  reconnus, 
il  redoubla  de  violence  a  ce  moment : 
des  morceaux  de  bois  tout  en  feu 
sautaient  en  1'air  et  venaient  re- 
tomber  sur  les  petits  balcons  du 
sixieme  etage  :  les  etincelles  montai- 
ent  en  tourbillonnant  avec  insolence 
et  s'eparpillaient  sur  les  maisons 
voisines  en  penetrant  j  usque  dans 
les  cheminees. 

Pendant  le  silence  angoisse  qui 
suivit,  on  vit  tout  a  coup  apparaitre 
les  pompiers  sur  le  toit  de  la  maison. 
Us  s'espacerent  un  peu  et  se  camper- 
ent  solidement,  les  jambes  ecartees, 
puis  ils  saisirent  leur  lance  a  pleines 
mains  et  Tabaisserent  d'un  geste  sur 
centre  le  feu.  II  diminua  aussitot 

235 


AU  FEU! 

ses  flammes  et  quelqu'un  cria  :  "Us 
le  tiennent !  " 

Toutes  les  voix  se  reunirent  en 
une  seule  pour  porter  aux  pompiers 
1'admiration  de  chacun,  puis  les 
mains  se  mirent  a  claquer  avec  une  si 
grande  violence  que  les  rugissements 
du  feu  en  furent  etouffes,  et  peu 
apres  la  foule  commen9a  de  circuler 
comme  dans  les  entr'actes  de 
theatre. 

Francette,  Tentretenue,  fut  bientot 
entouree,  comme  la  plus  a  plaindre : 
sa  couverture  glissait  a  chaque  in- 
stant de  ses  epaules  et  les  mouve- 
ments  maladroits  qu'elle  faisait  pour 
la  retenir  laissaient  voir  a  tous 
qu'elle  n'etait  vetue  que  de  sa 
chemise.  Elle  disparut  dans  un 
groupe  du  cote  d'un  grand  cafe. 

U employee  des  postes  relevait  con- 
stamment  son  chignon  qui  glissait 
sur  son  cou.  L'artiste  peintre  lui 
offrait  son  bras  pour  marcher  un 
peu ;  tous  deux  tournerent  le  coin 
d'une  rue  sombre. 

Peu  a  peu  la  scierie  cessa  de  bniler, 
236 


AU  FEU! 

le  silence  se  fit  sur  le  boulevard  et 
les  locataires  rentrerent  chez  eux 
les  uns  apres  les  autres. 

Les  cinq  locataires  du  sixieme 
e"tage  se  retrouverent  ensemble  sur 
le  palier  :  1'  artiste  peintre,  dont  le 
lit  etait  brule,  entra  chez  I'employee 
des  postes  pour  s'assurer  que  le  feu 
n'avait  rien  abime.  Francette,  1'entre- 
tenue,  avoua  qu'elle  avait  trop  peur 
pour  finir  la  nuit  chez  elle,  et  qu'elle 
aimait  mieux  aller  coucher  chez  une 
amie.  II  ne  resta  plus  sur  le  palier 
que  la  couturiere  et  la  petite  tuber- 
culeuse,  dont  les  chambres  n'avaient 
plus  de  fenetres.  Toutes  deux 
s'assirent  sur  1'escalier ;  la  petite 
tuberculeuse  promenait  sa  lettre  sur 
sa  poitrine  en  Tappuyant  du  plat  de 
sa  main,  comme  si  elle  lui  tenait 
chaud  aux  endroits  ou  elle  la  laissait 
un  moment,  et  on  n'entendit  plus 
que  les  pompiers  qui  allaient  et 
venaient  dans  la  maison  qu'ils  em- 
plissaient  de  bruit  et  d'eau. 


237 


CATICHE 

L INTERNE  de  service  1'ao 
cepta  tout  de  suite  parce 
qu'elle  avait  la  danse  de 
Saint-Guy. 

On  Temmena  dans  une  grande 
salle  ou  il  y  avait  beaucoup  de  petits 
lits  blancs  le  long  des  fenetres. 

Elle  avait  sept  ans  et  un  joli 
nom,  mais  la  surveillante  Fappela 
Catiche. 

C'etait  sans  y  penser,  simplement 
parce  qu'elle  avait  Fhabitude  d'ap- 
peler  ainsi  toutes  les  petites  filles  qui 
avaient  la  danse  de  Saint-Guy. 

Catiche  se  laissa  baigner  et  mettre 
au  lit  sans  rien  dire,  mais  quand  elle 
comprit  que  ce  nom  s'adressait  a 
elle,  elle  entra  dans  une  fureur  epou- 
vantable.  Elle  rejeta  ses  couver- 
tures  et  voulut  battre  la  surveillante. 
238 


CATICHE 

Toutes  les  petites  malades  leverent 
la  tete  pour  regarder.  Beaucoup  se 
mirent  a  rire  en  voyant  les  gestes  de 
Catiche.  Chaque  fois  qu'elle  langait 
ses  poings  sur  la  surveillante,  ils 
revenaient  d'eux-memes  comme 
tires  par  une  ficelle,  et  lui  frappaient 
la  poitrine  ou  le  front,  ou  bien  se 
retournaient  en  arriere  en  lui  touch- 
ant  le  dos  ou  la  nuque.  Elle  se 
tordait  comme  un  ver,  et  disait  de  sa 
voix  enrouee  :  "  Tu  vas  voir  !  " 
L'innrmiere  accourut  et  lui  cingla  la 
figure  avec  des  linges  mouilles,  pen- 
dant que  la  surveillante  la  mainte- 
nait  sur  le  lit. 

Elle  fut  longtemps  a  se  calmer. 
Peu  a  peu,  son  visage  reprit  sa  cou- 
leur  pale,  mais  sa  respiration  restait 
rude. 

Aussitot  que  les  infirmieres  se 
furent  eloigne"es,  elle  se  tourna  sur  le 
ventre  et  cacha  sa  tete  dans  Toreiller. 

Ses  bras  remuaient  sans  cesse 
avec  des  mouvements  de"sordonnes, 
et  ainsi  on  voyait  qu'elle  ne  dormait 
pas. 

239 


CATICHE 

Elle  refusa  de  manger ;  les  in- 
firmieres  voulurent  lui  faire  prendre 
du  lait  par  force  ;  elles  lui  pincerent 
le  nez  pour  lui  faire  ouvrir  la  bouche, 
mais  elle  ecarta  les  levres  et  respira 
a  travers  ses  dents. 

L'interne,  a  son  tour,  essaya  de  la 
prendre  par  la  douceur ;  il  n'obtint 
meme  pas  qu'elle  retirat  sa  figure  de 
1'oreiller.  Le  lendemain  matin,  a 
1'heure  de  la  visite,  Finterne  expliqua 
la  chose  au  chef  qui  s'approcha  pour 
caresser  les  cheveux  coupes  ras  de 
Catiche. 

II  parla  d'une  voix  douce,  toucha 
Tun  apres  1'autre  les  petits  bras  re- 
muants  et  demanda  :  "  Voyons,  ma 
mignonne,  dites-moi  ce  qu'on  vous 
a  fait  ?  " 

Elle  tourna  brusquement  la  tete 
de  son  cote,  et  d'une  voix  exasperee 
elle  cria  :  "  zut  a  toi,  na  !  "  et  elle 
replongea  la  tete  dans  son  oreiller. 

"  II  faut  la  laisser,"  dit  le  chef. 

Elle  passa  encore  toute  la  journee 
sans  vouloir  manger.  Quand  toutes 
les  lumieres  furent  eteintes,  et  qu'il 
240 


CATICHE 

n'y  cut  plus  que  la  veilleuse  qui 
faisait  comme  un  clair  de  lune  dans 
la  salle,  Catiche  commenga  de  remuer 
dans  son  lit.  Elle  fit  entendre  des 
petits  gemissements  qui  avaient  Tair 
de  sortir  d'un  sifflet  bouche. 

Sa  voisine  de  droite  se  pencha  vers 
elle  pour  lui  demander  ce  qu'elle 
avait.  Catiche  ne  repondit  pas.  On 
n'entendait  que  le  ronflement  de  la 
gardienne  qui  dormait  dans  son 
fauteuil,  a  1'autre  bout  de  la  salle. 
La  petite  voisine  se  leva  sans  bruit. 

C'etait  une  grande  fillette  de  douze 
ans  qui  s'en  allait  d'une  maladie  de 
coeur.  Elle  avait  de  grands  yeux 
bruns  et  doux  et  elle  s'appelait 
Yvonne.  Sans  penser  a  mal,  elle 
demanda,  tout  bas :  "  Voyons, 
Catiche,  qu'est-ce  que  tu  as  ?  ' 

Catiche  la  repoussa  en  ouvrant  la 
bouche  en  carre  pour  hurler,  mais 
aucun  son  ne  sortit.  Elle  avait 
perdu  la  voix  dans  la  derniere 
colere. 

"  Je  parie  que  tu  as  faim,"  lui  dit 
Yvonne. 

R  241 


CATICHE 

"  Oui,  na,  j'ai  faim,"  souffla 
Catiche. 

Yvonne  atteignit  une  boite  de 
gateaux  sees,  puis  elle  prit  le  pot  au 
lait  qui  etait  sur  la  table  de  nuit  et 
en  remplit  sa  tasse. 

Le  premier  gateau  que  Catiche 
voulut  porter  a  sa  bouche  s'en  alia 
se  promener  par-dessus  sa  tete ;  le 
deuxieme  lui  passa  par-dessus 
Fepaule.  Elle  etait  si  drole,  avec  sa 
bouche  ouverte  qui  essayait 
d'attraper  les  bouchees  qui  lui 
echappaient,  qu' Yvonne  ne  put  se 
retenir  de  rire. 

Elle  trempa  elle-meme  les  gateaux 
1'un  apres  1'autre  et  fit  manger 
Catiche  comme  un  petit  oiseau. 

Toute  la  boite  de  gateaux  y  passa 
et  plus  de  la  moiti6  du  pot  de  lait. 

Les  jours  suivants,  Yvonne  con- 
tinua  de  la  faire  manger  a  chaque 
repas.  Catiche  restait  sauvage  et 
mauvaise ;  aussitot  qu'elle  avait 
mange,  elle  tournait  la  tete  de  cote, 
et  s'enfoncait  sous  les  draps. 

Personne  ne  venait  la  voir,  elle  ne 
242 


CATICHE 

semblait  pas  envier  les  friandises 
que  les  autres  petites  malades  re- 
cevaient  de  leurs  parents. 

La  voisine  de  gauche  avail  neuf 
ans.  C'etait  une  blondinette  qui 
avait  des  attaques  qui  la  jetaient 
brusquement  par  terre  avec  une 
jambe  ou  un  bras  en  1'air.  Ses 
parents  la  comblaient  de  toutes 
sortes  de  bonnes  choses.  Plusieurs 
fois  ils  en  avaient  offert  a  Catiche, 
qui  avait  refuse  en  les  regardant  de 
travers. 

"  Elle  n'est  pas  commode,"  avait 
dit  le  papa  de  la  blondinette. 

"  C'est  dommage,"  avait  dit  la 
maman :  "  elle  est  jolie  avec  ses 
cheveux  coupes  qui  lui  font  comme 
un  bonnet  noir." 

"  Mais  non,  maman/'  dit  a  haute 
voix  la  blondinette,  "  elle  n'est  pas 
jolie.  Elle  a  un  ceil  tout  blanc." 

C'etait  vrai  :  Catiche  avait  une 
large  taie  sur  1'ceil  droit.  A  partir 
de  ce  jour,  elle  ne  tourna  plus  son 
visage  du  cote  de  la  blondinette. 
Celle-ci  en  profita  pour  lui  faire  des 

243 


CATICHE 

niches.  Elle  lui  tirait  son  drap,  lui 
envoyait  des  boulettes  de  pain  et 
1'appelait  tout  bas :  "  vieille 
Catichon." 

Catiche  ne  disait  rien,  mais  les 
mouvements  de  ses  bras  devenaient 
plus  violents. 

Un  matin  qu'elle  etait  assise  sur 
son  lit,  la  blondinette  s'approcha  et 
lui  dit  quelque  chose  en  faisant  la 
grimace. 

Catiche  la  poussa  avec  une  telle 
force,  qu'elle  Tenvoya  rouler  centre 
le  pied  du  lit.  La  surveillante  avait 
vu  le  geste ;  elle  accourut,  tout  en 
traitant  Catiche  de  petite  sournoise. 
Catiche  se  demenait  en  lancant  ses 
bras  de  tous  cotes. 

Elle  essayait  de  crier  pour  se  de- 
fendre,  et,  dans  sa  fureur,  elle  re- 
trouva  tout  a  coup  la  voix  pour 
hurler  :  "  Ella  m'a  appelee  ceil  de 
bique  !  " 

Toutes  les  petites  filles  se  mirent  a 
rire.  Seule  Yvonne  ne  riait  pas : 
elle  faisait  tous  ses  efforts  pour 
retenir  les  bras  de  Catiche  qui 
244 


CATICHE 

heurtaient  la  couchette  de  fer,  puis 
elle  s'assit  pres  d'elle  pour  la  con- 
soler. 

Elle  lui  mit  de  force  un  bonbon 
dans  la  bouche  en  disant  :  "  Mange 
done,  grosse  bete,"  puis  elle  tira  son 
crochet  et  se  mit  a  faire  de  la  den- 
telle.  Tous  les  jours,  ensuite,  elle 
approchait  sa  chaise  du  lit  de  Catiche 
qui  faisait  tou jours  des  difficultes 
pour  accepter  les  friandises  qu'elle 
voulait  partager  avec  elle. 

"  Prete-moi  ton  crochet,"  lui  dit 
un  jour  Catiche. 

"  Non,"  dit  Yvonne,  "  tu  pourrais 
te  blesser." 

Catiche  allongea  ses  bras  qui  ne 
remuaient  presque  plus  :  "  Tiens,  je 
suis  guerie  maintenant,  puisque  je 
peux  manger  toute  seule. 

"  Donne-le  moi,"  reprit  elle,  "  je 
veux  lui  piquer  1'ceil  pour  qu'on 
Tappelle  aussi  ceil  de  bique.  Maman 
dit  que  j'ai  1'ceil  blanc  parce  que  je 
me  suis  piquee  avec  un  crochet." 

"  Oh  !  "  dit  Yvonne,  "  comment 
peux-tu  etre  aussi  mechante  ?  '; 

245 


CATICHE 

"  C'est  elle  qui  est  mechante  :  je 
ne  lui  avals  rien  fait,  moi." 

"  C'est  vrai,"  dit  Yvonne  ;  "  mais 
puisque  tu  trouves  qu'elle  a  mal  fait, 
pourquoi  veux-tu  1'imiter  ?  ' 

"  Si  c'etait  toi,"  dit  Catiche, 
"  qu'est-ce-que  tu  lui  aurais  fait  ?  'J 

'  Je  lui  aurais  donne  une  gifle  et 
je  n'y  aurais  plus  pense." 

Yvonne  ajouta,  apres  un  silence : 
'  Tu  1'as  jetee  par  terre  et  elle  a 
saigne  du  nez  :  £a  lui  a  fait  plus  mal 
qu'une  gifle/' 

Le  lendemain,  Yvonne  qui  etait 
trop  faible  pour  se  lever,  s'adossa 
contre  ses  oreillers  pour  faire  sa 
dentelle. 

L'infirmiere  se  precipita  quand 
elle  la  vit  s'affaisser.  Elle  saisit  la 
petite  boite  a  ouvrage  et  la  deposa 
sur  le  lit  de  Catiche,  puis  elle  recoucha 
Yvonne  sans  dire  un  mot,  et  s'eloigna 
apres  lui  avoir  recouvert  la  figure 
avec  la  drap. 

Apres  plusieurs  allees  et  venues, 
Catiche  s'ape^ut  qu'Yvonne  n'etait 
plus  dans  son  lit.  Elle  osa  demander 
246 


CATICHE 

a  I'infirmiere  si  elle  allait  bientot 
revenir. 

"  Elle  ne  reviendra  plus,"  dit 
rinfirmiere  :  "  elle  est  tout  a  fait 
guerie." 

Alors  Catiche  rangea  soigneuse- 
ment  sa  dentelle  et,  apres  avoir 
regarde  un  moment  la  fine  pointe 
du  crochet,  elle  le  mit  dans  1'etui  et 
rendit  le  tout  a  la  surveillante. 


247 


LA  FIANCEE 

APRES  quelques  jours  de 
vacances,  il  me  fallait 
rentrer  a  Paris. 

Quand  j 'arrival  a  la  gare,  le  train 
etait  bonde  de  voyageurs  :  je  me 
penchai  vers  chaque  compartiment 
dans  1'espoir  de  trouver  une  place. 
II  y  en  avail  bien  une  la,  a  cote,  mais 
elle  etait  encombree  par  deux  grands 
paniers  d'ou  sortaient  des  tetes  de 
poules  et  de  canards. 

Apres  avoir  hesite  un  bon  moment, 
je  me  decidai  a  monter.  Je  m'ex- 
cusai  de  faire  deranger  les  paniers, 
mais  un  homme  en  blouse  me  dit : 
"  Attendez  done,  mademoiselle,  je 
vais  les  oter  de  la,"  et,  pendant  que 
je  tenais  le  panier  de  fruits  qu'il 
avait  sur  les  genoux,  il  glissa  ses 
volailles  sous  la  banquette. 
248 


LA  FIANCEE 


Les  canards  n'etaient  pas  contents, 
et  cela  s'entendait  bien ;  les  poules 
baissaient  les  tetes  d'un  air  humilie, 
et  la  femme  du  paysan  leur  parlait 
en  les  appelant  par  leur  nom. 

Quand  je  fus  assise  et  quand  les 
canards  se  furent  calmes,  le  voyageur 
qui  etait  en  face  de  moi  demanda  au 
paysan  s'il  portait  ses  volailles  au 
marche. 

"  Non,  monsieur,"  repondit 
rhomme,  "  je  les  porte  a  mon  gar$on 
qui  va  se  marier  apres-demain." 

Sa  figure  rayonnait :  il  regardait 
autour  de  lui,  comme  s'il  eut  voulu 
montrer  sa  joie  a  tout  le  monde. 

Une  veille  femme  qui  etait  enfoncee 
dans  trois  oreillers,  et  qui  tenait 
deux  fois  sa  place,  se  mit  a  maugreer 
contre  les  paysans  qui  encombrai- 
ent  toujours  les  vagons :  le  jeune 
homme  qui  etait  a  cote  d'elle  ne 
savait  ou  mettre  ses  coudes. 

Le  train  commenca  a  rouler  et  le 
voyageur  qui  avait  parle  allait  se 
mettre  a  lire  son  journal,  lorsque  le 
paysan  lui  dit : 

249 


LA  FIANCEE 


"  Mon  gargon  est  a  Paris  ;  il  est 
employe  dans  un  magasin  et  il  va 
se  marier  avec  une  demoiselle  qui  est 
aussi  dans  un  magasin." 

Le  voyageur  posa  son  journal 
ouvert  sur  ses  genoux  ;  il  le  main- 
tint  d'une  main,  en  se  rapprochant 
au  bord  de  la  banquette,  et  il  de- 
manda  : 

"  Est-ce  que  la  fiancee  est  jolie  ?  " 

"  On  ne  sait  pas,"  dit  1'homme, 
"  on  ne  1'a  pas  encore  vue." 

"  Vraiment,"  dit  le  voyageur,  "  et 
si  elle  etait  laide  et  qu'elle  ne  vous 
convienne  pas  ?  '' 

"  Ca,  c'est  des  choses  qui  peuvent 
arriver,"  repondit  le  paysan  ;  "  mais 
je  crois  qu'elle  nous  plaira,  parce  que 
notre  gargon  nous  aime  trop  pour 
prendre  une  femme  laide." 

"  Et  puis,"  ajouta  la  femme,  "  du 
moment  qu'elle  plait  a  notre  Phi- 
lippe, elle  nous  plaira  aussi/' 

Elle  se  tourna  vers  moi  et  ses  doux 
yeux  etaient  pleins  de  sourires. 
Elle  avait  un  tout  petit  visage  frais, 
et  je  ne  pouvais  croire  qu'elle  fut  la 
250 


LA  FIANCEE 


mere  d'un  gargon  qui  avail  l'age  de 
se  marier. 

Elle  voulut  savoir  si  j'allais  aussi 
a  Paris,  et  quand  j'eus  repondu  oui, 
le  voyageur  se  mit  a  plaisanter. 

"  Je  parie,"  dit-il,  "  que  made- 
moiselle est  la  fiancee  ;  elle  est  venue 
au  devant  de  ses  beaux-parents  sans 
se  faire  connaitre  !  ' 

Tous  les  yeux  se  porterent  sur  moi 
et  je  rougis  beaucoup,  pendant  que 
rhomme  et  la  femme  disaient  en- 
semble : 

"  Ah !  bien,  si  c'etait  vrai,  on 
serait  bien  contents  !  ''' 

Je  les  detrompai,  mais  le  voyageur 
leur  rappelait  que  j'etais  passee  deux 
fois  le  long  du  train,  comme  si  je 
cherchais  a  reconnaitre  quelqu'un,  et 
combien  j'avais  hesite  avant  de 
monter  dans  le  compartiment. 

Tous  les  voyageurs  riaient,  et 
j'etais  tres  genee  en  expliquant  que 
cette  place  etait  la  seule  que  j'avais 
trouvee. 

",Ca  ne  fait  rien,"  disait  la  femme, 
"  vous  me  plaisez  bien,  et  je  serais 

251 


LA  FIANCEE 


bien  aise  que  notre  bru  soil  comme 
vous." 

"  Oui,"  reprenait  1'homme,  "  il 
faudrait  qu'elle  vous  '  ressemble.'  ' 

Le  voyageur,  poursuivant  sa  plai- 
santerie,  leur  disait,  en  me  regardant 
d'un  air  malicieux  : 

"  Vous  verrez  que  je  ne  me  trompe 
pas.  Quand  vous  arriverez  a  Paris, 
votre  fils  vous  dira :  '  Voici  ma 
fiancee  !  '  ' 

Peu  apres,  la  femme  se  tourna  tout 
a  fait  vers  moi ;  elle  fouilla  au  fond 
de  son  panier  et  elle  en  tira  une 
galette  qu'elle  me  presenta  en  disant 
qu'elle  1'avait  faite  elle-meme  le 
matin. 

Je  ne  savais  pas  refuser  ;  j'exage- 
rai  un  rhume  en  affirmant  que  j'avais 
la  fievre,  et  la  galette  retourna  au 
fond  du  panier. 

Elle  m'offrit  ensuite  une  grappe 
de  raisin,  que  je  fus  forcee  d'accepter. 

J'eus   beaucoup   de  peine   a  em- 
pecher  rhomme  d'aller  me  chercher 
une  boisson  chaude  pendant  un  arret 
du  train. 
252 


LA  FIANCEE 


A  voir  ces  braves  gens  qui  ne  de- 
mandaient  qu'a  aimer  la  femme 
choisie  par  leur  fils,  il  me  venait  un 
regret  de  ne  pas  etre  leur  bru  :  je 
sentais  combien  leur  affection  m'eut 
ete  douce.  Je  n'avais  pas  connu 
mcs  parents  et  j'avais  toujours  vecu 
parmi  des  etrangers. 

A  chaque  instant,  je  surprenais 
leurs  regards  fixes  sur  moi. 

En  arrivant  a  Paris,  je  les  aidai  a 
descendre  leurs  paniers  et  je  les 
guidai  vers  la  sortie.  Je  m'eloignai 
un  peu  en  voyant  arriver  un  grand 
garcon  qui  se  jeta  sur  eux  en  les  en- 
tourant  de  ses  bras.  II  les  embras- 
sait  1'un  apres  1'autre  sans  se  lasser  ; 
eux  recevait  ses  caresses  en  souriant ; 
ils  n'entendaient  pas  les  avertisse- 
ments  des  employes  qui  les  heurtaient 
avec  leurs  vagonnets. 

Je  les  suivis  quand  ils  s'eloignerent. 
Le  fils  avait  passe  son  bras  dans 
1'anse  du  panier  aux  canards  et,  de 
son  autre  bras,  il  entourait  la  taille 
de  sa  mere.  II  se  penchait  sur  elle 
et  il  riait  tres  fort  de  ce  qu'elle  disait. 

253 


LA  FIANCEE 


II  avait,  comme  son  pere,  des  3'eux 
gais  et  un  sourire  large. 

Dehors,  il  faisait  presque  nuit. 
Je  relevai  le  col  de  mon  manteau  et 
je  restai  en  arriere,  a  quelques  pas 
d'eux,  pendant  que  leur  fils  allait 
chercher  une  voiture. 

L'homme  se  mit  a  caresser  la  tete 
d'une  belle  poule  tachetee  de  toutes 
couleurs,  et  il  dit  a  sa  femme  : 

"Si  on  avait  su  que  ce  n'etait  pas 
notre  bru,  on  lui  aurait  bien  donne 
la  bigarree." 

La  femme  caressa  aussi  la  bigarree, 
en  repondant : 

"  Oui !   si  on  avait  su.  .  .  ." 

Elle  fit  un  geste  vers  la  longue  file 
de  gens  qui  sortaient  de  la  gare  et 
elle  dit,  en  regardant  au  loin  : 

"  Elle  s'en  va  avec  tout  ce  monde." 

Mais  le  fils  revenait  avec  une 
voiture.  II  installa  ses  parents  de 
son  mieux  et  il  monta  lui-meme  pres 
du  cocher ;  il  se  tenait  assis  de 
travers  pour  ne  pas  les  perdre  de 
vue, 

II  paraissait  fort  et  doux,  et  je 

254 


LA  FIANCEE 


pensais  que  sa  fiancee  etait  bien 
heureuse.  .  .  . 

Quand  la  voiture  eut  disparu,  je 
m'en  allai  lentement  par  les  rues. 
Je  ne  pouvais  me  decider  a  rentrer 
toute  seule  dans  ma  petite  chambre. 

J'avais  vingt  ans,  et  personne  ne 
m'avait  encore  parle  d'amour. 


255 


FRAGMENT  DE 
LETTRE 

J'AVAIS  pense  a  aller  te  re- 
joindre  aux  Indes,  mais  j'ai  eu 
peur  pour  mes  fillettes  et 
surtout  pour  mon  petit  gargon  qui 
est  ties  delicat. 

Cependant  je  veux  quitter  ce  pays 
le  plus  tot  possible,  1'idee  d'y  rester 
m'est  insupportable :  ma  maison 
meme  m'est  devenue  odieuse.  .  .  . 

Je  suis  decidee  a  retourner  dans 
le  pays  ou  nous  sommes  nees,  j'y 
retrouverai  d'anciennes  amies  qui 
sont  devenues  des  jeunes  meres 
comme  moi,  et  pres  d'elles,  je  me 
sentiiai  moins  seule. 

Je  sais  bien  que  beaucoup  de 
jeunes  veuves  preferent  rester  dans 
leur  maison  ;  mais  mon  malheur  a 
moi  n'est  pas  ordinaire,  et  quand  je 
256 


FRAGMENT  DE  LETTRE 

t' aural  tout  dit,  tu  penseras  que  j'ai 
raison. 

Iicoute  :  je  n'ai  jamais  parle  de 
ces  choses  a  personne.  Les  gens  ne 
m'auraient  pas  crue  et  se  seraient 
moques  de  moi. 

Toi,  tu  es  ma  soeur  et  tu  m'aimes. 
Je  suis  sure  que  tu  ne  penseras  pas 
que  je  suis  folle.  .  .  . 

Quoique  tu  aies  tres  peu  connu 
mon  mari,  tu  dois  te  souvenir  de  ses 
yeux  qu'il  avait  tres  enfoncees  et  de 
teintes  si  changeantes  qu'on  ne 
pouvait  jamais  dire  de  quelle  couleur 
ils  etaient ;  ainsi,  plusieurs  mois 
apres  mon  mariage,  je  n'avais  pu 
m'y  habituer,  et  je  baissais  les  pau- 
pieres  chaque  fois  qu'il  me  regardait 
un  peu  longtemps.  Pourtant  il  etait 
doux  et  affectueux,  et  je  1'aimais. 

A  1'annonce  de  ma  premiere  gros- 
sesse,  il  m'entoura  de  soins  les  plus 
minutieux.  Souvent,  je  surprenais 
un  regard  inquiet  fixe  sur  mqi.  Je 
ne  compris  son  tourment  que  le  jour 
ou  il  me  dit :  "  Pourvu  que  ce  soit 
un  gar9on !  " 

s  257 


FRAGMENT  DE  LETTRE 

Ce  fut  ma  petite  Lise,  et  rien  ne 
pourrait  rendre  le  regard  de  mepris 
qu'il  laissa  tomber  sur  le  berceau. 

La  mignonne  avait  bien  pres  d'un 
an  quand  j'eus  ma  deuxieme  fille 
Mon  mari  haussa  les  epaules  ;  ce- 
pendant  il  regarda  le  petite  et  il  dit 
d'un  air  desenchante  :  "II  faut  que 
j'en  prenne  mon  parti !  Je  vois 
bien  que  nous  n'aurons  que  des 
filles  !  " 

Le  jour  de  la  naissance  de  mon 
petit  Raymond,  tout  changea. 
J'etais  si  joyeuse  que  j'envoyai  la 
bonne  a  la  recherche  de  mon  mari 
pour  lui  apprendre  la  bonne  nouvelle. 
II  ne  voulait  pas  y  croire  !  II  disait : 
'  Vous  devez  vous  tromper,  je  suis 
sur  que  c'est  encore  une  fille.  .  .  ." 

II  entra  dans  ma  chambre  a  pas 
comptes  et,  sans  un  regard  pour  moi, 
il  alia  droit  au  berceau. 

II  prit  le  petit  enfant  au  bout  de 
ses  doigts  comme  un  objet  precieux. 
II  1'approchait  et  le  reculait  de  son 
visage ;  il  riait  et  je  voyais  qu'il 
avait  envie  de  pleurer.  Enfin  il  se 
258 


FRAGMENT  DE  LETTRE 

tourna  vers  moi  et  dit :  "  Je  suis  bien 
heureux  !  '; 

Je  crois  qu'il  aimait  bien  tout  de 
meme  ses  petites  filles,  mais  elles  ne 
1'interessaient  pas,  tandis  qu'il  lui 
semblaient  que  son  fils  etait  a  lui 
tout  seul.  II  1'avait  tant  desire ! 
Devant  nos  amis,  il  disait  tres  haut : 
"  C'est  mon  fils  !  "  Mais  quand  il 
etait  tout  seul  pres  du  berceau,  il 
disait :  "  C'est  mon  petit  gar$on  !  >J 

Aussitot  que  1'enfant  fut  sevre,  il 
s'occupa  lui-meme  des  soins  a  lui 
donner.  II  le  baignait  et  Thabillait 
avec  adresse.  II  lui  preparait  aussi 
ses  legers  repas.  Puis  ce  furent  des 
promenades  sans  fin.  Le  petit 
n'aimait  que  son  pere,  et  c'est  a 
peine  si  j'osais  lui  donner  une 
caresse,  tant  j'avais  peur  de  con- 
trarier  mon  mari.  II  me  disait 
souvent :  "  Embrasse  done  tes 
filles  et  laisse-moi  mon  fils." 

Pendant  la  nuit  il  se  levait  pour 
regarder  dormir  T enfant.  Un  jour 
que  j'avais  appele  le  docteur  pour 
un  bobo  qu'avait  ma  petite  Lise,  il 

259 


FRAGMENT  DB  LETTRE 

fut  frappe  de  1'extreme  maigreur 
de  mon  mari :  il  1'obligea  a  se  laisser 
ausculter.  A  peine  avait-il  appuye 
son  oreille,  que  je  vis  ses  yeux 
s'agrandir  avec  inquietude ! 

II  ecouta  longtemps,  et  quand  il 
eut  fini,  il  fit  une  longue  ordonnance. 
Puis,  comme  je  I'accompagnais  a  la 
porte,  il  me  dit  presque  bas  :  "  Les 
poumons  sont  atteints !  Surtout, 
veillez  bien  a  ce  qu'il  prenne  ses 
remedes,  car  le  mal  est  deja  tres 
avance  !  " 

Je  ne  me  rendais  pas  bien  compte 
de  cette  maladie  ;  ce  ne  fut  que  huit 
jours  apres  que  le  docteur,  me  trou- 
vant  seule,  m'en  donna  tous  les 
details. 

A  force  d'y  reflechir,  je  me  souvins 
que  mon  mari  avait  commence  a 
tousser  a  la  suite  d'une  pluie  d'orage 
qui  T  avait  surpris  dans  la  campagne. 
II  avait  ote  son  vetement  pour  en 
couvrir  1' enfant  et  il  etait  reste 
assez  longtemps  dans  ses  effets 
mouilles. 

Depuis,  la  toux  avait  toujours  ete" 
260 


FRAGMENT  DE  LETTRE 

en  augmentant.  En  peu  de  temps 
le  mal  fit  de  grands  progres.  Mon 
mari  dut  bientot  renoncer  aux  pro- 
menades avec  son  fils.  II  exigeait 
qu'on  le  laissa  seul  avec  lui  dans  le 
jardin.  II  passait  ses  journees  assis 
dans  un  fauteuil,  pendant  que  le 
petit  jouait  silencieusement  pres  de 
lui. 

Quand  1'hiver  arriva,  ce  fut  une 
vraie  torture  ;  mon  mari  gardait  le 
lit :  il  voulait  que  son  fils  restat 
tout  le  jour  dans  sa  chambre,  mais 
le  docteur  le  defendait  tres  severe- 
ment.  Je  passais  tout  mon  temps  a 
imaginer  des  pretextes  pour  eloigner 
1'enfant  !  C'etait  epouvantable  ! 

Le  pere  menacait  et  suppliait  pour 
avoir  son  fils,  et  rien  ne  pouvait 
distraire  1'enfant  qui  pleurait  et 
voulait  son  pere  ! 

Vers  le  commencement  de  mars,  le 
docteur  m'avertit  que  le  malade  ne 
verrait  pas  1'ete. 

II  vecut  encore  deux  mois  avec  de 
la  fievre  et  du  delire.  II  appelait 
son  fils  a  grands  cris,  et  quoique 

261 


FRAGMENT  DE  LETTRE 

I* enfant  fut  souvent  assez  eloigne 
pour  que  les  cris  ne  lui  parvinissent 
pas,  il  semblait  les  entendre,  il 
echappait  a  toutes  les  mains  pour 
accourir  vers  la  chambre  de  son 
pere. 

Un  matin,  mon  mari  me  fit  signe 
d'approcher  tout  pres.  II  regardait 
la  porte  avec  inquietude,  et  quand  je 
fus  penchee  sur  lui,  il  me  dit  dans 
1'oreille  :  "  II  y  a  des  negres  derriere 
la  porte,  ils  viennent  chercher  mon 
petit  garcon,  donne-leur  des  sous 
pour  qu'ils  s'en  aillent !  '' 

Malgre  moi,  je  demandais  :  "  Des 
negres  ?  ''' 

"  Oui !  Oui  !  "  me  dit-il,  "  tiens, 
les  voila,  maintenant,  qui  viennent 
cracher  sur  mon  lit !  >: 

Je  haussais  la  voix  comme  pour 
chasser  des  mendiants,  et  jusqu'au 
dernier  jour,  il  ne  cessa  de  crier  que 
des  negres  venaient  cracher  sur  son 
lit.  Pour  le  calmer,  il  me  fallait 
jeter  de  grosses  poignees  de  sous 
vers  la  porte. 

Une  minute  avant  de  mourir,  il 
262 


FRAGMENT  DE  LETTRE 

se  dressa  en  criant :    "  Je  veux  mon 
fils !  "     Puis    il    arrondit    les    bras 
comme  s'il  tenait  Tenfant,  et  quand 
tout  fut  fini,  son  visage  garda  1'ex-' 
pression  d'un  sourire. 

En  rentrant  du  cimetiere,  il  me 
fallut  repondre  a  mes  enfants  qui 
demandaient  ou  etait  leur  pere.  Je 
tachai  de  leur  expliquer  qu'il  etait 
parti  en  voyage,  mais  mon  petit 
Raymond  me  repondit  :  "  Non  !  il 
est  mourir  dans  1'enterrement  du 
cimetiere."  II  dit  cela  en  levant 
vers  moi  son  petit  visage  serieux, 
puis  il  se  mit  a  pleurer  en  appelant 
son  pere. 

Je  le  pris  sur  mes  genoux  pour  le 
caresser  et  le  consoler.  II  pleura 
longtemps,  puis  il  finit  par  s'endor- 
mir.  Sa  petite  main  remuait  con- 
stamment  comme  si  elle  cherchait 
une  autre  main. 

Le  jour  finissait,  j'etais  tres  lasse, 
je  luttais  centre  une  somnolence  qui 
me  gagnait,  lorsqu'un  leger  bruit  me 
fit  regarder  vers  la  fenetre. 

Une  grande  ombre  se  glissait  sur 

263 


FRAGMENT  DE  LETTRE 

le  mur,  et  quand  elle  fut  en  face  de 
moi,  je  reconnus  mon  rnari,  il  montra 
de  doigt  1' enfant  et  me  dit :  "  Em- 
brasse-le  bien,  car  tu  ne  1'auras  pas 
longtemps.  .  ." 


264 


LES  POULAINS 

C'ETAIT    la    fin    de   l'6t£,    et 
aussi    le    dernier    jour     des 
vacances   de   Raymond.     Sa 
mere  et  lui  devaient  quitter  le  soir 
meme  la  petite  ile  ou  ils  venaient  de 
passer  deux  mois. 

Pendant  que  sa  mere  terminait  les 
paquets,  Raymond  s'en  alia  courir 
une  dernier  e  fois  sur  la  lande.  Depuis 
qu'il  etait  dans  1'ile,  il  avait  appris  a 
aimer  les  betes.  Elles  n'allaient  pas 
par  troupeaux,  comme  dans  les 
autres  pays.  De  loin  en  loin,  on 
voyait  une  vache  ou  un  mouton,  le 
long  des  rochers.  II  semblait  a  Ray- 
mond que  ces  betes  etaient  la  comme 
des  naufrages  attendant  du  secours. 
Des  qu'elles  entendaient  des  pas, 
elles  levaient  la  tete  et  appelaient  de 
leur  voix  de  betes.  Elles  regardaient 

265 


POULAINS 


les  gens  aussi  longtemps  qu'elles 
pouvaient  les  apercevoir,  puis  elles 
cessaient  d'appeler,  comme  si  elles 
comprenaient  que  le  moment  de 
la  delivrance  n'etait  pas  encore 
venu. 

Raymond  s'etait  surtout  attache 
aux  poulains  qui  gambadaient  a 
travers  Tile.  Son  prefere  etait  un 
tout  petit  dont  le  poil  avait  des 
teintes  roses.  La  veille  encore,  il 
s'etait  arrete  longtemps  a  le  re- 
garder.  C'etait  a  1'heure  du  soleil 
couchant.  Le  poulain  galopait  en 
faisant  des  graces  :  il  baissait  et 
relevait  la  tete,  comme  s'il  saluait  le 
gros  soleil  rouge  qui  se  couchait  dans 
1'eau.  Puis  il  se  cabrait  en  essayant 
de  se  tenir  debout,  ou  bien  il  lancait 
ses  pieds  de  derriere  dans  le  vide  : 
ensuite,  il  reprenait  son  joli  trot  en 
tragant  des  cercles  autour  de  sa  mere. 
Mais,  ce  matin-la,  Raymond  eut 
beau  courir  le  long  des  rochers  et  sur 
la  lande,  il  vit  les  memes  vaches  et 
les  memes  moutons,  mais  nulle  part 
il  ne  vit  de  poulains.  II  ne  savait  a 
266 


LES  POULAINS 


quoi  attribuer  cela,  et  il  revint  tout 
ennuye  retrouver  sa  mere  qui 
1'attendait  pour  le  depart. 

En  arrivant  sur  le  port,  Raymond 
vit  tout  de  suite  qu'il  y  avait  autant 
de  monde  qu'un  dimanche.  Ce-' 
pendant,  il  remarqua  que  les  gens  ne 
se  promenaient  pas  tranquillement 
le  long  des  quais  et  sur  la  jetee. 
Tout  ce  monde  paraissait  soucieux 
et  affaire.  Des  groupes  d'hommes 
parlaient  haut  et  discutaient  sur 
des  sommes  d' argent. 

Pendant  que  sa  mere  faisait  de- 
poser  ses  colis  tout  aupres  du  bateau, 
Raymond  s'approcha  des  groupes, 
et  a  travers  les  appels  et  les  discus- 
sions, il  apprit  que  c'etait  le  jour  de 
la  foire  aux  poulains.  On  ne  voyait 
pas  1'endroit  ou  etait  la  foire,  on  n'en 
entendait  pas  non  plus  le  bruit,  mais 
d'instant  en  instant,  on  voyait  arriver 
sur  le  port  une  femme  qui  conduisait 
par  la  bride  une  jument  et  son  pou- 
lain. 

Parfois,  plusieurs  homines  suivaient 
derriere ;  leurs  vetements  etaient  a 

267 


LES  POULAINS 


peu  pres  semblables,  mais  on  recon- 
naissait  tout  de  suite  le  marchand  a 
la  fagon  dont  il  surveillait  de  1'ceil 
Failure  du  poulain.  La  femme  faisait 
avancer  la  jument  tout  au  bord  du 
quai  devant  le  bateau,  et  pendant 
que  le  petit,  tout  inquiet,  se  rappro- 
chait  de  sa  mere,  deux  hommes 
adroits  lui  passaient  une  grossiere 
sous-ventriere  ou  s'accrochait  une 
barre  de  bois  qui  lui  maintenaient 
les  jarrets  :  puis  on  entendait  sur  le 
bateau  le  grincement  d'une  poulie, 
deux  roues  tournaient,  et  un  cable 
muni  d'un  e"norme  crochet  s'abais- 
sait  vers  le  poulain  et  le  soulevait 
comme  un  colis. 

Tous  avaient  le  meme  mouvement 
de  frayeur  quand  ils  se  sentaient 
souleves  de  terre :  leurs  paupieres 
battaient  tres  vite,  ils  allongeaient 
leurs  jambes  de  devant  en  repliant 
le  pied,  comme  s'ils  cherchaient  un 
point  d'appui,  et,  n'en  trouvant  pas, 
ils  cessaient  de  se  raidir,  et  tout  leur 
corps  pendait  au  bout  du  cable.  Le 
minute  d'apres,  ils  disparaissaient 
268 


LES  POULAINS 


par  un  large  trou  au  fond  du  bateau, 
d'oii  sortaient  des  hennissements  et 
des  piaffements  de  recul. 

Apres  cela,  la  femine  et  la  jument 
s'en  retournaient  du  meme  pas  lent, 
pendant  que  le  marchand  courait 
sur  le  bateau  et  se  penchait  au-dessus 
du  trou  en  criant  des  ordres. 

Raymond  s'etait  imagine  que  tous 
ces  poulains  grandiraient  pres  de 
leur  mere  jusqu'a  ce  qu'ils  soient 
assez  forts  pour  trainer  des  charges 
a  leur  tour :  et  voila  qu'on  les  amenait 
dans  ce  bateau  par  surprise,  comme 
les  enfants  que  Ton  mene  a  1'ecole 
pour  la  premiere  fois. 

Cela  lui  rappelait  le  jour  ou  sa 
mere  1'avait  conduit  au  college. 
C'etait  1'annee  d'avant,  et  il  res- 
sentait  encore  Timpression  de  terreur 
qui  1'avait  saisi  en  se  trouvant  en 
face  du  grand  batiment  et  de  sa 
grande  porte. 

Son  premier  mouvement  avait  ete 
de  s'enfuir,  et  il  avait  fallu  que  sa 
mere  le  retint  de  toutes  ses  forces 
par  la  main.  Elle  lui  avait  fait 

269 


LES  POULAINS 


honte  tout  bas  en  lui  montrant 
d'autres  gargons  qui  suivaient  leur 
mere  d'un  air  sage,  tout  comme 
ces  grands  poulains  qui  venaient 
tranquillement  jusqu'a  ce  grand 
bateau. 

II  n'avait  pas  oublie  non  plus  ce 
petit  gargon  qui  s'etait  couche  sur 
le  dos,  devant  la  porte  du  college, 
et  qui  se  defendait  des  pieds  et  des 
poings  contre  le  monsieur  qui  essa- 
yait  de  le  soulever  de  terre.  Le 
petit  gargon  criait  en  appelant  sa 
mere  :  il  avait  du  tant  crier  que  sa 
voix  en  etait  tout  enrouee.  Un 
rassemblement  s'etait  forme  autour 
d'eux  et  des  gens  disaient : 

"  II  faudra  bien  qu'il  entre :  il 
n'est  pas  le  plus  fort/' 

Et,  le  lendemain,  Raymond  1'avait 
bien  reconnu  dans  la  cour  de  la 
recreation. 

Raymond  pensait  a  toutes  ces 
choses,  et  une  grande  pitie  lui  venait 
pour  ces  poulains  que  le  bateau  allait 
bientot  deposer  dans  des  endroits 
inconnus. 
270 


LES  POULAINS 


Tout  a  coup,  il  vit  les  femmes  qui 
encombraient  le  passage  s'ecarter 
pour  laisser  passer  une  grande  jument 
blanche.  Elle  marchait  lourdement 
et  cherchait  a  s'arreter  a  chaque 
instant.  La  femme  qui  la  conduisait 
s'arretait  en  meme  temps  qu'elle  et 
reprenait  sa  marche  en  disant  a  la 
bete  : 

"  Allons,  viens  done  !  " 

Raymond  reconnut  aussitot  la 
mere  de  son  poulain  prefere.  Le 
petit  paraissait  tout  affole  :  il  courait 
autour  de  sa  mere  en  poussant  sans 
cesse  un  petit  hennissement  qui  res- 
semblait  a  un  cri  de  tout  petit  enfant. 
Le  marchand  le  suivait  et  cherchait 
a  lui  enserrer  la  tete  dans  un  licol 
blanc  et  rose  :  mais  le  poulain  1'evi- 
tait  d'un  leger  recul  ou  d'un  petit 
saut  de  cote.  Le  marchand  com- 
menga  de  jurer  :  il  voulut  que  la 
femme  fit  un  effort  pour  1'aider, 
mais  elle  resta  droite  et  raide  a  la 
tete  de  la  jument,  en  repondant : 

"  Maintenant  qu'il  est  a  vous, 
prenez-le  comme  vous  pourrez  :  je 

271 


LES  POULAINS 


ne  vous  ai  pas  cache  qu'il  n'a  jamais 
etc  attache." 

Les  femmes  s'apitoyaient  sur  la 
petite  bete,  pendant  que  le  mar- 
chand  s'avan£ait  sur  la  pointe  de 
ses  gros  souliers  avec  le  licol  tout 
grand  ouvert  au  bout  de  ses  deux 
mains.  II  tournait  et  revenait  sur 
ses  pas  pour  surprendre  le  poulain, 
qui  lui  echappait  toujours.  C'etait 
un  gros  homme  pesant  et  maladroit, 
et  Raymond  pensait  en  lui-meme 
qu'il  avait  1'air  d'un  ours  essayant 
d'attraper  un  oiseau. 

Cependant,  il  1'approcha  deux  ou 
trois  fois  de  si  pres  que  le  petit 
chercha  du  secours  pres  de  sa  mere. 

II  voulut  d'abord  se  cacher  sous 
son  ventre  :  puis  il  essaya  de  lui 
monter  sur  le  dos,  et  comme  tout 
cela  etait  impossible,  il  se  colla  contre 
elle  et  roula  sa  petite  tete  sous  son 
cou  pour  y  chercher  une  caresse. 

Ce  fut  a  ce  moment  que  le  mar- 
chand  le  saisit. 

Quand  le  petit  sentit  la  corde,  il 
sauta  des  quatre  pieds  et  se  jeta  de 
272 


LES  POULAINS 


tous    cotes,    et    Raymond    entendit 
encore  des  gens  qui  disaient : 

(<  II  faudra  bien  qu'il  y  vienne  : 
il  n'est  pas  le  plus  fort." 

Le  poulain  avait  recule  jusqu'a  un 
amoncellement  de  colis,  et  il  restait 
la,  tout  en  recul,  en  secouant  la  tete 
de  toutes  ses  forces  pour  echapper  a 
la  corde.  Alors,  le  marchand 
s'avanca  sur  lui  en  enroulant  la 
corde  a  son  bras  pour  en  diminuer  la 
longueur.  II  tira  ensuite  une  mince 
cravache  de  dessous  sa  blouse  et  il 
en  frappa  le  poulain  d'un  coup  sec, 
en  disant  entre  ses  dents  serrees  : 

"  Avance  done,  enfant  de 
chameau  !  " 

Comme  pour  les  autres  poulains, 
le  femme  fit  approcher  la  mere  tout 
pres  du  bateau. 

Le  petit  tremblait  de  tout  son 
corps  :  il  essayait  enore  de  hennir 
comme  pour  demander  du  secours, 
mais  sa  voix  trop  fragile  avait  du 
etre  cassee  par  le  coup  de  cravache 
et,  malgre  tous  ses  efforts,  il  ne  put 
la  faire  entendre. 

T  273 


POUI,AINS 


Sa  mere  tendit  le  cou  vers  lui :  ses 
naseaux  eurent  un  fremissment  en 
rencontrant  les  naseaux  du  poulain. 
Ses  levres  se  mirent  a  trembler  en 
s'allongeant,  et  elle  les  appuya  un 
long  moment  sur  la  bouche  de  son 
petit,  et  Raymond  vit  bien  qu'elle 
lui  donnait  le  dernier  baiser  ;  puis 
elle  releva  la  tete  et  regarda  la  mer 
par-dessus  le  bateau. 

La  femme  aussi  regarda  la  mer 
pendant  que  la  chaine  grin9ait  et 
que  le  poulain  se  balangait  au  bout 
du  cable.  Quand  il  eut  disparu  au 
fond  du  bateau,  elle  fit  tourner  la 
jument  vers  la  terre,  et  toutes  deux 
s'en  retournerent  lentement.  La 
femme  marchait  en  ecartant  un  peu 
les  jambes,  et  sa  jupe,  qui  se  gonflait 
aux  hanches,  lui  faisait  comme  une 
large  croupe. 

Pendant  ce  temps,  le  marchand 
consolidait  sa  haute  casquette,  se- 
couait  sa  blouse  et  s'en  allait  re- 
joindre  les  autres  marchands,  qui 
menaient  grand  bruit  a  I'arriere  du 
bateau. 

274 


LE  FANT6ME 

A  PRESENT,  tout  etait  tran- 
quille  dans  la  maison  et  les 
bruits  de  la  rue  ne  s'enten- 
daient  presque  plus.  De  temps  en 
temps,  un  fiacre  passait  encore  au 
loin,  les  fers  du  cheval  claquaient 
sur  les  paves  comme  s'ils  ne  tenaient 
plus  que  par  un  fil  a  ses  sabots,  et 
les  sons  creux  et  geles  de  sa  clochette 
passaient  dans  la  nuit  comme  un 
avertissement  triste. 

Marie  avait  cesse  de  pleurer  et 
Angelique  se  tenait  toute  penchee 
sur  la  table,  la  tete  presque  sous 
1'abat-jour  de  la  lampe. 

Un  craquement  sec  sortant  d'un 
meuble  fit  relever  vivement  la  tete  a 
Angelique,  pendant  que  Marie  rame- 
nait  ses  mains  bien  en  vue  sur  la 
table,  comme  si  elle  craignait  que 

275 


FANTOME 


quelqu'un  les  lui  touchat  dans 
1' ombre,  puis  toutes  deux  regarde- 
rent  vers  une  porte  vitree  qu'on 
voyait  a  1'autre  bout  de  la  piece,  et 
Angelique  remonta  un  peu  1'abat- 
jour  pour  que  la  clarte  de  la  lampe 
s'etendit  davantage  sur  les  murs  de 
la  chambre. 

Le  silence  augmenta  encore  et 
tout  a  coup  la  pendule  se  mit  a 
sonner. 

Marie  se  pencha  vers  la  cheminee 
pour  essayer  de  voir  la  pendule  et 
elle  dit  a  voix  basse  : 

"  Comme  elle  a  sonne  vite  !  " 

Angelique  evita  le  regard  de  sa 
soeur  en  repondant : 

"  Tu  trouves  ?  " 

"  Oui,"  dit  Marie  toujours  a  voix 
basse,  "  on  dirait  qu'elle  s'est  de- 
pechee  de  dire  1'heure  pour  se  ren- 
fermer  au  plus  vite  comme  une  per- 
sonne  qui  a  peur." 

Angelique  sourit  a  sa  scBur  et  dit 
d'une  voix  assez  calme  : 

"  II  est  minuit,  il  faut  aller  nous 
coucher." 
276 


FANTOME 


"  Non,"  dit  Marie,  "  je  ne  pourrais 
pas  dormir.  Lis-moi  plutot  quelque 
chose,"  et  elle  atteignit  un  livre  au 
hasard  sur  la  petite  etagere  accrochee 
au  mur  tout  pres  d'elle." 

"  Nous  le  connaissons  par  cceur," 
dit  sa  sceur  en  repoussant  le  livre. 
Elle  regarda  de  nouveau  vers  la 
porte  vitree. 

"  Maintenant  que  1'oncle  est  mort, 
nous  pourrons  prendre  les  livres  qui 
sont  dans  sa  chambre.  II  ne  nous  a 
jamais  defendu  de  les  lire." 

"  C'est  vrai,"  dit  Marie,  "  mais  je 
n'oserai  pas  entrer  dans  sa  chambre 
maintenant." 

Elle  baissa  la  voix  pour  dire  en  se 
rapprochant  de  sa  sceur  : 

'  Tantot,  quand  nous  sommes 
revenues  du  cimetiere,  il  m'a  semble 
qu'il  rentrait  dans  la  maison  en 
meme  temps  que  nous." 

Angelique  remonta  1'abat-jour 
tout  en  haut  du  verre  de  lampe  et, 
dans  le  silence  qui  suivit,  les  deux 
soeurs  entendirent  un  bruit  qu'elles 
ne  reconnurent  pas. 

277 


LE  FANTOME 


"  Qu'est-ce  qui  a  fait  ^a  ?  "  de- 
manda  Angelique  sans  oser  regarder 
sa  soeur. 

"  Je  ne  sais  pas,"  dit  Marie,  "  on 
dirait  que  quelqu'un  est  tombe  ici 
sur  le  parquet." 

"  II  me  semble  que  cela  vient  de 
ce  cote,"  dit  Angelique  en  montant 
la  fenetre. 

"  Elles  ecouterent  un  long  moment 
dans  le  silence  et  Marie  reprit  en 
assurant  sa  voix : 

"  C'est  sans  doute  ma  tapisserie 
qui  est  tombee  de  la  corbeille  a 
ouvrage,"  et  comme  sa  soeur  ne  re- 
pondait  pas,  elle  proposa  : 

"  Si  nous  y  allions  voir  ?  " 

Angelique  prit  la  lampe  qu'elle 
e*leva  tres  haut,  et  Marie  prit  sa  soeur 
par  le  bras. 

Le  gros  rouleau  de  tapisserie  etait 
toujours  sur  la  corbeille  a  ouvrage. 

Elles  entrerent  dans  le  salon  et 
dans  leur  chambre,  regarderent 
autour  de  chaque  meuble,  rien  n'etait 
derange.  Elles  revinrent  dans  la 
salle  a  manger. 
278 


LE  FANTOME 


"  C'est  certainement  ici  que  le  bruit 
s'est  produit,"  chuchota  Angelique. 

"  Alois  c'est  dans  le  placard,"  dit 
Marie. 

"  Quel  placard  ?  ''  demanda  sa 
soeur. 

"  Celui  de  1'oncle,"  repondit  Marie 
toujours  a  voix  basse. 

Elles  arriverent  tres  vite  au  pla- 
card et  Marie  1'ouvrit  vivement, 
apres  avoir  repousse  pres  de  la  fene- 
tre  une  chaise  chargee  de  paquets 
de  linge  que  la  blanchisseuse  avait 
apportes  dans  la  journee. 

Rien  n'etait  derange  dans  le 
placard  de  Toncle.  Sur  le  devant  de 
la  planche  du  haut,  deux  chemises 
blanches  etaient  couchees  Tune  sur 
Tautre ;  elles  arrondissaient  leurs 
poings  empeses  comme  pour  se 
faire  un  oreiller,  et  de  chaque  cote 
d'elles  venaient  s'appuyer  les  mou- 
choirs  plies  en  carre  et  les  chaussettes 
bien  enroulees. 

Les  vetements  pendaient  sous  la 
planche  et  s'aplatissaient  sur  des 
epaules  en  bois. 

279 


LE  FANTOME 


Marie  les  fit  glisser  sur  la  triangle 
pour  regarder  en-dessous,  mais  elle 
ne  vit  que  des  chaussures  reluisantes 
et  bien  alignees. 

Elle  referma  le  placard,  et  comme 
a  ce  moment  la  lampe  eclairait  vive- 
ment  la  porte  vitree,  les  deux  sceurs 
virent  en  meme  temps  1'oncle  debout, 
le  chapeau  sur  la  tete,  qui  les  re- 
gardait  fixement  de  1'autre  cote  de 
la  porte. 

Marie  lacha  le  bras  de  sa  sceur  et 
recula  d'un  pas,  mais  Angelique 
ouvrit  precipitamment  la  porte 
vitree  et  tendit  brusquement  la  lampe 
vers  le  fantome.  Elle  se  rassura 
aussitot,  elle  venait  de  reconnaitre 
que  c'etait  simplement  le  mannequin 
qui  servait  a  sa  soeur  pour  faire  ses 
robes  et  sur  lequel  on  avait  mis  par 
megarde  le  chapeau  et  le  paletot  de 
Toncle. 

Marie  se  rapprocha  sans  dire  un 
mot,  elle  ota  du  mannequin  le 
chapeau  et  le  paletot  qu'elle  mit  sur 
le  lit  de  1'oncle,  dont  les  matelas 
restaient  decouverts,  avec  seulement 


FANTOMB 


les  couvertures  pliees  au  pied,  et, 
ainsi  que  sa  soeur,  elle  vit  tout  de 
suite  que  tout  etait  en  ordre  sur  les 
meubles  et  que  rien  ne  trainait  par 
terre.  Elles  remarquerent  aussi  que 
la  fenetre  restait  grande  ouverte 
devant  les  persiennes  fermees  et  que 
1'air  etait  froid  et  charge  d'une 
odeur  de  buis. 

Elles  sortirent  de  la  chambre  en 
refermant  la  porte,  et  pendant  qu' 
Angelique  posait  sur  la  table  la  lampe 
qui  vacillait  dans  sa  main,  Marie 
s'assit  lourdement  comme  si  ses 
jambes  lui  faisaient  tout  a  coup 
defaut. 

Le  silence  continua,  puis  Marie  dit : 

"  Apres  tout,  ce  bruit  venait  peut- 
etre  de  chez  les  voisins  ?  " 

"  Peut-etre ! "  repondit  Angelique : 
elle  ajouta  en  voyant  sa  sceur  preter 
1'oreille  avec  attention  : 

"  C'est  comme  si  quelqu'un  etait 
tombe  sur  les  genoux." 

Elle  ecouta  aussi  avec  attention, 
puis  elle  demanda  sans  regarder  sa 
sceur : 

281 


LE  FANTOME 


"  Est-ce  que  tu  as  peur  ?  ' 

"  Non,"  dit  Marie,  "  et  toi  ?  " 

"  Moi  non  plus." 

Angelique  se  leva  la  premiere  et 
dit  comme  tout  a  1'heure  : 

"  II  faut  nous  coucher." 

Elles  se  serrerent  un  peu  pour 
passer  ensemble  dans  la  porte  de 
leur  chambre  et  Marie  donna  un 
tour  de  cle  pendant  que  sa  soeur 
poussait  le  verrou. 

Elles  furent  bientot  couchees  cote 
a  cote,  et  quand  Angelique  eut 
souffle  la  lampe  qu'elle  avait  mise 
tout  pres  de  son  lit,  les  deux  soeurs 
s'apercurent  que  la  flamme  de  la 
veilleuse  n'eclairait  pas  comme  a 
1' ordinaire  :  elle  s'allongeait  parfois 
comme  si  elle  voulait  sortir  du  verre, 
et  les  ombres  qu'elle  renvoyait  sur 
les  murs  ne  ressemblaient  pas  aux 
ombres  des  autres  soirs.  Cependant 
Angelique  s'efforgait  de  respirer  un 
peu  fort  comme  si  elle  dormait 
tranquillement,  et  Marie  n'osait 
faire  le  plus  petit  mouvement  de 
peur  de  reveiller  sa  sceur. 
282 


I,E  FANTOMB 


Mais,  jusqu'au  matin,  les  yeux 
des  deux  soeurs  guetterent  le  fan- 
tome  tombe  dans  la  maison  et  qui 
pouvait  apparaitre  d'un  moment  a 
1'autre.  Quand  il  fit  grand  jour, 
elles  se  leverent  en  meme  temps. 

En  entrant  dans  la  salle  a  manger, 
la  premiere  chose  qu'elles  virent,  ce 
fut  un  gros  paquet  de  linge  qui  etait 
tombe  de  la  chaise  sur  le  parquet  et 
que  le  double  rideau  de  la  fenetre 
cachait  a  moitie. 

Alors  elles  se  regarderent  en 
souriant  et  s'embrasserent. 


283 


Y  A  DES  LOUPS 

LES  infirmieres  1'appelaient 
grand'mere  et  lui  parlaient 
comme  a  une  petite  fille. 

Depuis  quinze  jours  qu'elle  etait 
dans  la  salle,  personne  n'avait  pu  la 
decider  a  se  laisser  ope"rer. 

Chaque  matin,  les  internes  s'arre- 
taient  pres  de  son  lit. 

II  y  en  avait  un  qui  lui  parlait 
avec  beaucoup  de  douceur  : .  il  riait 
en  montrant  de  belles  dents  blanches 
et  il  disait : 

"  Voyons,  grand'mere,  on  ne  vous 
fera  aucun  mal,  et  ensuite  vous  serez 
leste  comme  une  jeune  fille." 

Mais  elle  secouait  la  tete  en  bais- 
sant  le  front,  puis,  d'une  voix  claire  et 
douce,  elle  repondait." 

"  Non,  je  ne  veux  pas/' 

Aussitot  que  les  medecins  avaient 
284 


Y  A  DBS  I.OUPS 


quitte  la  salle,  elle  se  levait  de 
son  lit  et  s'asseyait  pres  de  la 
fenetre. 

Elle  passait  toutes  ses  journe"es  a 
regarder  les  gens  qui  allaient  et  ve- 
naient  dans  la  cour.  J'etais  sa 
voisine  et  j 'avals  souvent  1' occasion 
de  lui  rendre  quelque  petit  service. 
Peu  a  peu,  elle  me  parla  de  son  mal ; 
elle  disait : 

"  C'est  dans  le  ventre  que  je 
souffre,  mais  il  y  a  si  longtemps  que 
j'ai  fini  par  m'y  habituer." 

Alors  elle  regardait  vers  la  fenetre 
en  ajoutant : 

"  Je  voudrais  bien  m'en  aller 
did." 

Ce  matin  la,,  elle  etait  toute  joyeuse 
parce  que  Tinterne  lui  avait  dit  qu'on 
allait  la  renvoyer  de  I'hopital.  Tout 
en  rangeant  ses  petites  affaires,  elle 
me  raconta  qu'elle  etait  depuis  peu 
a  Paris.  Son  mari  etait  mort  1'annee 
d'avant  et  sa  fille,  qui  etait  etablie 
a  Paris,  n' avait  pas  voulu  la  laisser 
seule  au  village ;  elle  lui  avait  fait 
vendre  tout  son  bien,  et  maintenant 

285 


Y  A  DBS  I/)UPS 


elle  vivait  dans  une  petite  boutique 
entre  sa  fille  et  son  gendre. 

Dans  les  premiers  temps,  elle  etait 
content e  d'etre  a  Paris ;  puis  il  lui 
etait  venu  un  immense  regret  de  ses 
champs.  Elle  pensait  sans  cesse  a 
ces  gens  qui  habit aient  maintenant 
sa  petite  maison  ;  ils  avaient  achete 
aussi  les  deux  vaches  et  le  cheval, 
il  n'y  avait  que  1'ane  qu'elle  n'avait 
pas  voulu  vendre.  Sa  fille  avait 
beau  lui  dire  qu'a  Paris  il  n'y  avait 
pas  d'anes,  elle  n'avait  pas  voulu  s'en 
separer,  et  il  avait  bien  fallu  1'amener. 
On  1'avait  mis  chez  un  marchand  de 
lait  qui  le  soignait,  et  ou  elle  pouvait 
le  voir  chaque  jour. 

A  force  de  s'ennuyer,  voila  qu'elle 
avait  senti  da  vantage  son  mal ; 
aussitot  sa  fille  1'avait  amenee  a 
1'hdpital.  Le  medecin  avait  dit 
qu'une  operation  pourrait  la  guerir, 
mais  elle  aimait  mieux  garder  son 
mal  jusqu'a  la  fin  de  sa  vie,  plutot 
que  de  se  faire  operer. 

Sa  fille  venait  souvent  la  voir. 
C' etait  une  grande  femme  qui  avait 
286 


Y  A  DBS  LOUPS 


le  nez  pointu  et  le  regard  dur.  Elle 
souriait  a  toutes  les  malades  en 
traversant  la  salle,  et  tout  le  monde 
pouvait  entendre  les  paroles  d'en- 
couragement  qu'elle  prodiguait  a  sa 
mere. 

Ce  jour-la,  elle  s'arreta  longtemps 
a  causer  a  la  surveillante.  Grand' 
mere  la  regardait  d'un  air  craintif  et 
respectueux.  Elle  avait  perdu  son 
air  joyeux  du  matin,  et  elle  avait 
1'air  d'une  petite  fille  qui  s'attend  a 
etre  grondee. 

Maintenant  sa  fille  s'avan9ait  en 
distribuant  des  oranges  aux  maiades, 
et  quand  elle  fut  pres  de  sa  mere, 
elle  1'accabla  de  tendresses  et  de 
baisers  ;  elle  disait  a  haute  voix  : 

"  Je  veux  que  tu  sois  raisonnable 
et  que  tu  te  laisses  operer." 

Grand'mere  la  suppliait  tout  bas  de 
remmener,  mais  la  fille  repondait : 
"  Non,  non,  je  veux  que  tu  guerisses.'* 
Elle  prenait  les  malades  a  temoin, 
disant  que  sa  mere  avait  encore  de 
^longues  anees  a  vivre  et  qu'elle 
voulait  la  voir  bien  portante. 

287 


Y  A  DBS  IvOUPS 


Grand'mere  ne  se  laissait  pas  con- 
vaincre,  elle  continuait  de  dire  tout 
bas  :  "  Emmene-moi,  ma  fille." 

Alors  la  fille  se  mit  a  dire  : 

"  Eh  bien  !  voila  :  si  tu  ne  veux 
pas,  je  vendrai  Tine." 

Et  elle  etait  partie  au  milieu  des 
rires  de  toute  la  salle. 

Grand'mere  en  etait  restee  toute 
egar£e,  elle  regardait  ces  femmes  qui 
riaient.  Enfin  elle  ouvrit  la  bouche 
comme  si  elle  allait  appeler  au  secours, 
et  pendant  que  les  rires  redoublaient, 
elle  cacha  sa  tete  sous  son  drap. 
Toute  la  nuit,  je  1'entendis  remuer ; 
elle  ne  pleurait  pas,  mais  ses  soupirs 
etaient  longs  comme  des  plaintes. 

Au  matin,  quand  elle  apercut  la 
surveillante,  elle  lui  cria  : 

"  Je  veux  bien,  Madame  !  " 

La  surveillante  la  complimenta, 
puis  ce  fut  le  tour  des  internes,  ils 
venaient  1'un  apres  Tautre  s'assurer 
de  son  consentement :  a  tous  elle 
disait  avec  le  meme  mouvement  du 
front :  "  Oui,  je  veux  bien." 

A  1'heure  oti  les  malades  ont  la 
288 


Y  A  DES  IXttJPS 


permission  de  se  distraire,  toutes 
celles  qui  pouvaient  marcher  en- 
tourerent  le  lit  de  grand'mere. 

Chacune  parlait  de  son  mal,  Tune 
montrait  un  pied  oil  il  manquait 
trois  doigts  ;  1'autre  expliquait  com- 
ment on  lui  avait  enleve  un  sein ; 
celle-ci  decouvrait  un  ventre  partage 
par  une  longue  raie  rouge,  et  une 
petite  femme  mince  et  noire  raconta 
qu'elle  s'etait  reveillee  avant  la  fin, 
et  qu'il  avait  fallu  quatre  hommes 
pour  la  tenir  pendant  qu'on  la  re- 
cousait. 

Grand'mere  n'avait  pas  l'air  de 
les  entendre  :  elle  se  tenait  adossee 
contre  ses  oreillers  et,  de  temps  en 
temps,  elle  levait  le  main  comme 
pour  chasser  une  mouche.  Puis  la 
nuit  revint  ;  les  infirmieres  s'en 
allerent  apres  avoir  eteint  toutes  les 
lumieres,  il  ne  resta  plus  qu'une 
petite  flamme  qui  eclairait  la  grande 
table  oii  s'etalaient  des  linges  et 
des  instruments  bizarres. 

Vers  le  milieu  de  la  nuit,  la  sur- 

veillante  vint  faire  sa  ronde  ;    elle 

u  289 


Y  A  DES  LOUPS 


marchait  sans  bruit,  et  la  lanterne 
qu'elle  balangait  au-dessus  de  chaque 
lit  avait  Tair  d'un  gros  ceil  curieux. 

Grand'mere  se  leva  quand  la  lan- 
terne eut  disparu  ;  elle  s'approcha  de 
la  fenetre  et  cogna  au  carreau  avec 
son  doigt  recourbe.  Elle  cognait 
tout  doucement  et  elle  faisait  des 
signes  a  quelqu'un  dans  la  cour. 

Je  regardai  de  ce  cote,  la  cour 
etait  toute  blanche  de  neige,  et  on  ne 
voyait  que  des  arbres  noirs  et  tordus 
qui  allongeaient  leurs  branches  vers 
nous. 

Maintenant  grand'mere  cognait 
plus  fort :  elle  se  serrait  contre  les 
vitres,  comme  si  elle  esperait  qu'on 
allait  lui  ouvrir  du  dehors.  Puis  sa 
voix  claire  et  douce  monta  comme 
une  plainte  qui  traine.  Elle  dit : 
"  Y  a  des  loups  !  '" 

La  gardienne  de  nuit  s'approcha 
pour  la  faire  taire,  mais  grand'mere 
se  sauva  vers  une  autre  fenetre. 
Elle  se  mit  a  cogner  de  toutes  ses 
forces,  comme  si  elle  eut  demande 
asile  aux  arbres  de  la  cour.  Elle 
290 


Y  A  DES  LOUPS 


repetait  d'un  ton  plaintif  et  sup- 
pliant :  "  Y  a  des  loups." 

Bientot  toutes  les  malades  furent 
reveillees  et  Tune  d'elles  alia  cher- 
cher  du  secours.  Deux  hommes  se 
saisirent  de  grand'mere  et  la  couch- 
erent  de  force  :  ils  mirent  deux  larges 
planches  de  chaque  cote  de  son  lit 
et  la  gardienne  de  nuit  s'installa 
pres  d'elle  ;  grand'mere  se  dressait  a 
tout  instant  du  fond  de  ses  planches, 
comme  si  elle  essayait  de  sortir  de 
son  cerceuil.  Pendant  longtemps, 
elle  continua  de  faire  des  signes 
d'appel,  puis  ses  bras  resterent  im- 
mobiles  et  on  n'entendit  plus  que  sa 
plainte  iente  et  triste,  qui  disait  sans 
relache  :  "  Y  a  des  loups  !  " 

Cela  montait  comme  un  cri  de 
frayeur  et  emplissait  toute  la  salle. 
Vers  le  matin,  la  plainte  se  fit  plus 
faible,  on  cut  dit  que  la  petite  voix 
claire  s'etait  usee.  Elle  traina  long- 
temps  comme  une  plainte  d'enfant, 
et  quand  le  jour  parut,  elle  se  cassa 
en  disant  encore  :  "  Y  a  des  loups  !  " 

291 


NOUVEAU  LOGIS 

L'ANCIEN  etait  mon  bien  :  j'en 
connaissais    les    plus    petits 
recoins  ;   pas  un  bruit  qui  ne 
me  fut   familier.     Je   savais  a  quel 
moment    mes    meubles    craquaient 
et    les  ombres  qui  couraient  le  soir 
sur    les    murs    etaient    mes    amies. 
La  tout  etait  naturel,  ici   tout  est 
suspect. 

Le  vent  ricane  pres  de  la  croisee 
et  secoue  la  porte  comme  un  voleur. 
L'  ombre  de  1'etagere  semble  un  mon- 
strueux  dragon  pret  a  se  jeter  sur 
moi.  La  namme  de  la  bougie, 
attiree  par  quelque  chose  que  je  ne 
vois  pas,  penche  toujours  du  meme 
cote.  Le  robinet  de  la  cuisine  gronde 
sans  cesse  comme  une  personne 
292 


NOUVBAU  IvOGlS 


grincheuse.  Mon  lit  mal  assure*  crie 
a  tout  instant,  et  quand  enfin  je 
commence  £  sommeiller,  une  porte 
de  placard  s'ouvre  brusquement. 


293 


PETITE    ABEILLE 

A  I !    te  voila  enfin  posee  sur  le 
montant  de  ma  fenetre  : 

Depuis  un  long  moment 
tu  e*tais  la,  dansant  dans  le  soleil 
levant,  le  soleil  d'automne  encore 
tout  frais  de  la  fraicheur  de  la  nuit. 

D'oii  viens-tu,  petite  abeille  jaune 
et  noire  ? 

Quel  chemin  t'a  conduite  par  la 
grande  ville  jusqu'a  mon  sixieme 
etage,  et  quelle  gaite  ou  quel  deses- 
poir  t'a  fait  danser  si  longtemps 
dans  1'encadrement  de  ma  fenetre 
ouverte  ? 

Parfois  tu  t'elancais  si  fort  qu'on 
eut  dit  que  tu  voulais  atteindre  le 
ciel,  puis  ta  danse  devenait  triste 
et  ton  vol  retombant. 

Dis-moi,  petite  abeille,  viens-tu 
294 


PETITE  ABEIUvE 


d'un  bal  de  nuit  ou  reviens-tu  de 
guerre  ? 

Quand  tu  t'es  pose"e  sur  le  montant 
de  ma  fenetre,  tout  ton  petit  corps 
tremblait  de  fatigue.  Tes  pattes  se 
repliaient  sans  forces,  tes  ailes  fris- 
sonnaient  et  ta  tete  ronde  remuait  et 
se  balan$ait  comme  la  tete  d'une 
vieille  femme  dont  le  cou  est  devenu 
faible. 

Maintenant  tu  dors,  petite  abeille. 

Tes  fines  pattes  sont  agrippees  au 
bois,  mais  ton  corps  est  si  lourd  qu'il 
penche  de  cote  et  tu  fais  penser  a 
un  pauvre  homme  sans  gite,  qui  a 
erre  toute  la  nuit,  et  qui  s'est  en- 
dormi  au  matin  sur  un  bane. 

Tout  a  I'heure  tu  t'envoleras,  tu 
secoueras  tes  fines  ailes  qui  ressem- 
blent  en  ce  moment  a  des  parcelles 
d'ecailles  sechees. 

Tu  redescendras  vers  la  terre,  ou 
tu  trouveras  encore  des  fleurs  et  des 
ruisseaux. 

Mais  maintenant,  dors  dans  le 
rayon  du  soleil  levant,  dors  tranquille 
sur  la  boiserie  de  ma  fenetre  ouverte, 

295 


PETITE  ABEIIvIvE 


car  j 'ignore  d'ou  tu  viens  petite 
abeille.  Mais  que  tu  viennes  d'un 
bal  de  nuit  ou  que  tu  reviennes  de 
guerre,  dors  jusqu'a  midi,  sous  le 
doux  soleil  d'octobre. 


296 


MON  BIEN-AIME 

MON    bien-aime    est  parti,   et 
la  nuit   descend    sur   moi. 
Elle    ne    peut     entrer    en 
moi,  car   dans  mon  coeur  brule  une 
flamme  claire  que  rien  ne  peut  etein- 
dre  et  qui  m'eclaire  toute.     Dans  le 
crepuscule  leger  j'erre  doucement  par 
les  sentiers,   esperant  toujours  voir 
le  bien-aime  dans  1'autre  sentier. 

Parfums  doux  des  roses  et  des  lis. 
Parfums  amers  des  peupliers  et  des 
lierres,  vous  passez  dans  mes  cheveux 
et  sur  ma  bouche  ;  mais  ma  bouche 
garde  le  souvenir  des  parfums  vivants 
de  son  baiser. 

Mon  bien-aime  est  parti,  et  mon 
£me  est  pleine  de  sanglots. 

Pleurez  sur  moi,  saules  pleureurs. 

N'etes-vous  pas  ici  pour  pleurer  sur 
les  peines  d'amour  ? 

297 


MON  BIEN-AIMB 


Vous  laissez  pendre  votre  feuillage 
comme  une  douce  et  blonde  cheve- 
lure ;  mais  la  sienne  est  plus  blonde 
et  plus  douce. 

Fermez  sur  moi  vos  rideaux 
mysterieux,  beaux  ifs  ;  afin  que  mes 
soupirs  ne  troublent  pas  les  amours 
des  fleurs. 

Les  roses  toutes  parf  unices  s'ouv- 
rent  en  fremissant  a  Tapproche  de  la 
nuit,  et  les  liserons  frileux  s'enroulent 
dans  leurs  petales  pour  attendre  la 
fraicheur  du  matin  qui  deposera  sa 
blanche  rosee  au  fond  de  leur  corolle 
blanche. 

Douce  nuit,  tu  chantes  pour 
m'endormir. 

Mais  le  sommeil  s'en  est  alle  avec 
le  bien-aime. 

Tu  chantais  aussi  quand  il  etait 
la, 

Et  silencieux  nous  1'ecoutions. 

Nos  mains  s'enlacaient :  nos 
fronts  se  touchaient  et  tu  passais  sur 
nos  visages  avec  des  caresses  qui 
faisaient  fremir  nos  ames,  et  remplis- 
saient  nos  coeurs  de  tendresse. 
298 


MON   BIEN-AIME 


Nous  t'aimions,  belle  nuit : 

Avec  tes  brises  parfumees, 

Avec  tes  arbres  balances. 

Avec  tes  feuilles  frissonnantes, 

Avec  le  mysterieux  chagrin  de  tes 
sources, 

Et  le  chant  de  tes  crapauds  qui 
soufflent  dans  des  flutes  de  perles.  .  .  . 

Ce  soir,  mon  bien-aime  est  parti. 

Dans  1' ombre,  mes  yeux  cherchent 
ses  yeux  : 

Mes  doigts  s'ouvrent  pour  caresser 
son  front  et  les  douceurs  de  son  cou. 

Mon  visage  se  tend  pour  aspirer 
son  souffle, 

Et  le  doux  lien  de  ses  bras  manque 
a  ma  ceinture. 

Douce  nuit  si  bonne  a  ceux  qui 
souffrent  mets  un  pan  de  ton  voile 
sur  mes  yeux,  afin  que  je  ne  voie 
plus  le  sentier  par  ou  s'en  est  alle 
mon  bien-aime. 


299 


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